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Footloose
This sucks. Nat sits alone at the Honky Tonk type bar, and it’s 80s night. She should be out there dancing, the music too good to waste, and frankly, so are the jeans she’s squeezed her ass into.
It’s a rare weekend that seniors are granted off at the Academy, and she’s on a double date, sorry, double-blind date. How she agreed to this she’ll never know. Her friend Amy is hitting it off with her guy, but Nat’s is awful. He’s already ditched her for a young Dolly Parton look alike, and they’ve only been here an hour. Maybe her blatant “you’re not getting into my pants, no matter what” vibe was a mood killer from the get go. She doesn’t actually care, he’s clearly not her type or worth her time, but it’s the principle of it all. Who ditches someone like that so openly? An asshole. That’s who. Nat’s usually not one to question herself or her confidence, but being ditched in such an overt and obvious way, stings. Her pride has taken a bit of a hit, and she’s pissed to admit it, even if it’s just to herself.
To pass the time and humiliation, Nat’s been texting her best friend, the unofficial protector of her heart and head. He was responsive at first, but now he’s gone radio silent. Which is just making her feel even worse.
Oh, shit. Her stomach drops as the proverbial cherry on top of this fucktastic night hits, the thought he could be out on a date, too. He didn’t mention anything, but he’s definitely no stranger to female attention. The kind that makes her rage with silent jealousy and tests her mental resolve. Nat huffs out her frustration and chastises herself. She really needs to get a grip on this secret crush/mad love she has for him. It’s completely unhealthy and pointless.
“Excuse me, ma’am. Care to dance?”
Although it’s heavily tinged with an unpracticed Texan twang, a bolt of recognition shoots through her. Nat spins around in her seat and stares up into the face of her best friend, Bradley Bradshaw, rocking jeans, a Hawaiian button down, cowboy hat, and best of all, her favorite half smile.
“What are you doing here?” she asks bewildered.
“Heard someone might’ve needed saving. Come on. Let’s dance. That asshole doesn’t deserve the satisfaction of watching you sit around doing nothing. It’s 80s night, and no one puts Baby in the corner,” he says with a wink and a smirk.
Such a dork, but Nat’s heart bursts wide open nonetheless. Without much effort, a gigantic smile overtakes her face, and she goes willingly when Bradley reaches down and takes her hand to pull her out onto the dance floor. Her eyes maybe falling to watch his ass flex in his jeans as he leads. What? She’s not a saint, and never claimed to be.
The sound of Footloose starts to fill her ears, and pumps her blood. A boot scooting urge overtakes her, as she’s no stranger to shaking her ass when feeling it, and thanks to her best friend, there’s a new-found spring to her step. Nat’s not entirely sure if her heart is racing from the music or the shocking sudden appearance of her heart's desire, but she decided a long time ago she’d blindly follow him anywhere, and the dance floor is no exception.
Nat’s always known her best friend possesses some serious musical talent, so it should come as no surprise to her that he’s got rhythm and moves to match. But damn if it doesn’t still shock her. His quick feet, swinging hips, and graceful arms are truly a wonder when you take in his size. She laughs as she watches him dance circles around her, looking both ridiculous and practiced. Not an easy feat. And she can’t help when her mind turns dirty thinking about what those hips could really do. Gah. Again, not now, Nat.
Before she knows it, all thoughts of her lame ass date are long forgotten as she loses herself to the song and having the time of her life, being spun, turned, dipped, and two stepped.
Laughing on the way back up from her latest dip, she looks up into the eyes of her best friend who sends her a wink.
“I’ve always got your back, Nat.”
And he does.
Flu
There’s a knock at her door, and it takes everything in her to whisper shout it’s open from her bed.
The door opens and Bradley sticks his head in.
Nat panics and burrows deeper into her covers. He can’t see her like this! With her crush having taken on a huge life form of its own, she can’t cope with having him around normally, let alone looking like death warmed over.
“Nat? Sarah said you were sick. I brought you the Bradshaw remedy,” he says, walking over to her bed.
“Go away,” she mumbles from under her blankets.
“Nope. Not happening,” he says, and sits down at the foot of her bed.
“I’ll get you sick,” she tries pathetically to appeal to his practical side. Who wants to be sick, she reasons.
“Too late for that. We shared that cake last night, remember? Plus, I’m pretty sure we mixed up our water bottles too.”
Shit. They did.
Nat peeks out from under the covers and sends a grumpy stare his way.
“Fine. But don’t complain to me when you feel like shit. I’m not the nurse you back to health type. Got it?”
Bradley crosses his heart with an endearing smile. Fucker. Why does he have to be so damn attractive? Even doing something as middle school as that.
Hefting a bag onto his lap he starts, “I brought you some Gatorade, Advil, NightQuil, vapor rub, a mini humidifier, your favorite hoodie of mine, fuzzy socks, some DVDs, and all the ingredients to make my mom’s special Bradshaw remedy tea.”
Looking up from his pharmacy stockpile, Bradley sends her a bit of a vulnerable look after mentioning his mom. He doesn’t mention his parents much, but as time has gone by, he’s let them slip into his thoughts and conversations with her more and more. And she loves it. It’s a side to him that really gives color to the man sitting by her and occupying her thoughts. Otherwise, he’s a mystery.
“Thank you,” she croaks out. He nods and gets to work making her tea.
Nat watches his capable hands as he adds all the ingredients. An unexpected feeling starts to override her malady, but most of all, she’s overwhelmed by his sweet selfless gesture.
Finished, Bradley hands the tea to her, and she takes a sip, letting the honey, ginger, and lemon coat and soothe her irritated throat and ease some of her congestion.
“This is amazing, thank you,” she says with her eyes closed, suddenly feeling like the act of keeping them open is the most taxing task of the entire year.
Try as she might, exhaustion wins and overtakes her.
Bradley wordlessly takes the mug from her, noticing her droopy eyes, and places it next to her bed.
As she dozes off, she swears she feels the tender touch of someone smoothing her hair away from her forehead to test her body temperature. She can’t be sure, but she also swears she feels a pair of cool lips touch her forehead before hearing footsteps and the click of a door.
She can’t be sure, but she thinks maybe, just maybe, for the first time, someone might like her back.
After the bird strike
“You can stop staring at me,” she says as she zips up her overnight bag.
“All set?” Bradley asks her, blatantly ignoring her attempt at deflecting his obvious hovering and concern.
“Yes. I can’t wait to get out of here.” They’ve been waiting all afternoon to get clearance from the doctor and her discharge papers. Her patience has just about run out.
Nat catches him studying her again. He’s been doing a lot of that lately. Ever since he came barging into her hospital room last night with the wild look of fear, he’s been acting like she might disappear.
“Bradley. I’m ok. Promise.”
He quietly nods his head. This is the closest they’ve come to the startling reality their job presents each time they go up. Sure, they’ve had close calls over the years, but this is the first time they both have had a front-row seat. The first time both of their lives are at stake for the same mission. It’s been a daunting realization it’s going to take three or four miracles to bring them all home safely, and she’s really hoping they haven’t already used one up.
“Let’s grab Bob and head out,” he forges forward.
She follows behind him, admiring the strength in his broad shoulders. Shoulders that have carried so much. And she hates that this latest debacle has added even more weight. Damn birds.
Ironic really, birds almost took Phoenix out. The irony isn’t lost on her. Maybe she needs to change her call sign to Airess and hope like hell karma keeps her ass in the air. So far, karma has been a bitch.
Bob sees them approach and stands from his chair, having just been discharged himself.
“Ready to go, man?” Bradley asks.
“Yup. All set,” Bob says.
Bradley nods and leads the way out to his Bronco.
Bob whispers, “You guys ok?”
Nat exhales, “We are. He’s just being Bradley. He’s a worrier, and he’s working it all out in his head. Plus, Maverick stopped by last night. I think their conversation rattled him.”
Maverick. That’s a whole other thing to deal with. He knows about their marriage now, and it’s unsettling to think he can wash them out with that knowledge. She’s determined to not give him that power.
Bradley gets to the car and puts her bag in the trunk. He turns and leans up against the bumper. He scratches the back of his head. Hesitant.
“I didn’t want to mention this yesterday with everything going on, but you should know before we get back on base. Admiral Kazansky passed away yesterday.” Bradley looks down and sniffs. Nat realizes he’s trying to keep his emotions at bay. He finally confided in her the other day about his connection to Maverick and Iceman. To say she was shocked was an understatement, but going from his story of a vibrant living past to a death of one of the main characters in a matter of days is just crazy. Again. Karma, girlfriend. What the hell?
“What?” she gasps. It all makes sense why he’s been extra quiet and moody today. Nat quickly closes the distance, and wraps her arms around him. “Oh Bradley. I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you tell me last night?”
“Wasn’t the place. Or time. I wanted to focus on you,” he says, tucking an errant piece of her hair behind her ear.
She nods. She would rather not get into it too much with Bob standing there anyway.
Bob looks on confused. She can tell he’s trying to work out why he’s so affected by the Admiral’s death. Before she can step in, Bradley speaks.
“The Admiral was like an Uncle to me. He flew with Maverick and my dad,” he says in way of explanation to Bob.
Nat’s heart swells hearing him open up to someone. He must really trust and like Bob, and it only further solidifies her back-seater into her tribe.
“Wow. I had no idea. I’m deeply sorry, Rooster,” Bob says with sincerity.
“Thank you. Just kind of weird to think he’s actually gone. I didn’t really process it until this morning, to be honest. Anyway I’m sure funeral arrangements are underway and wanted to give you guys a heads-up.”
She nods, “Thank you.”
He squeezes her hand and walks to the driver's side.
Bob hangs back and raises his brows at her. “Your husband has some Naval legacy there, Phoenix.”
“Tell me about it,” she says. He really does, though. Nat knows he’s a fucking amazing pilot, but the ties he has are stunning. She knows she joked about it, but he truly is like Navy royalty.
“Come on,” she says as her and Bob get in the car and head back to base. She silently reaches over and grabs Bradley’s hand on the gearshift. He sends her a small smile.
They return to base and immediately head to their respective rooms. It’s not too late, but Nat is incredibly sore, even though she won’t truly admit it. Her energy and comfort zapped on the drive and walking, so laying down and going to bed sounds wonderful. Bradley follows behind her and places her bag inside her room. He stands there and shifts from foot to foot, clearly working through his next move.
Walking up to him, she cups his cheek, and he closes his eyes leaning into her palm. Her touch helping to take the edge off and ease his turbulent mind. He’s been buzzing since yesterday afternoon, and she has a feeling he’s going to crash soon too. No pun intended.
“I’m ok, Bradley. Really. I’m just going to go to bed. Funnily enough, I didn’t get much rest in the hospital.”
“I know. My mom used to say the same thing,” he says with a tender smile. “I’ll let you rest but come get me if you need anything, you hear me? These separate sleeping arrangements suck, but the idea of squeezing onto the bed with you knowing your injuries is even less appealing. I love you,” he says and gives her a kiss on his way out.
Letting out a huff, she leans up against the door. She takes stock of the last twenty-four hours. How fast things can change in a blink. Coyote, her and Bob, and now Iceman. It’s surreal.
Surrendering her sore body and weary mind, she gets ready for bed. It doesn’t take her long to fall asleep. But sadly nightmares plague her, and when she shoots up in bed with a wildly racing heart and sweat dripping from her brow, she startles when she sees she’s not alone. Slumped in her desk chair and sound asleep is her husband.
Tenderly smiling, she gets up and walks over to him, gently smoothing her hand over his curls. He wakes and looks up at her. Sheepish.
“Sorry. I just needed to be close to you. I’m not over what could’ve happened. Not sure if it’s something I’ll ever be able to get out of my head. I just need to stand watch a little longer, okay?”
Nat nods, knowing she’d feel the same way if roles were reversed. It’s one thing to know the consequences of their jobs, it is a whole other to hear or see it in real-time.
Nat tugs him up and leads him over to her tiny bed.
“Nat, honey, I don’t want to hurt you,” he says.
“You won’t. Please?” she asks, more unarmed than she intended. But her shields are down, and she needs her husband to hold her. Simple as that.
Bradley crawls onto the bed and lies on his side, and Nat scoots in, curling her body into his. She feels the tension leave him, and in turn, hers too.
In his arms, she feels protected. Safe. And it’s her favorite place to be. Especially given all that’s happened.
“I’m not letting go until the end, Nat,” she hears her husband promise behind her.
“Me too.”
Sleep comes easily for both
Unwanted Advances
Halo, Bob, and Nat decided to duck out early after training, and told the rest of the squad to meet them at the Hard Deck. Bradley and the other guys had later flights, and after the difficult week between the bird strike and Admiral Kazansky’s funeral, everyone was feeling the pressure. A night to blow off steam and not think about the past, present, or looming future was warranted. Hell, it was required. Tensions are high.
“Hey sweetheart. What’s a pretty little thing like you doing here alone?” Nat hears as she’s getting the beers. Nat turns her indifference towards the person who deigned to woo her with some generic pickup line. Like come on. At least try to be original, she chastises. This shit is just annoying.
Nat levels her bored gaze on the guy. The preppy clean cut douche canoe is clearly not from around here, and it pricks her irritation all the more that she’s out of uniform.
Along with the heavy this week, Halo and Nat decided to fully separate tonight and let their hair down. Both figuratively and literally. Clearly, she now has regrets. Her uniform is usually a natural deterrent or at the very least armor that gives the signal she doesn’t entertain the mundane bullshit. Especially from pesky unwanted advances. Apparently loose long hair, cutoffs, and a tank are equivalent to a string bikini and an invitation to be hit on. Who knew?
Nat just quirks a brow, “NOT your sweetheart,” and grabs the beers from Penny, who sends her a conspiratorial smirk. Clearly, Penny’s up-to-date from Maverick on all the juicy happenings at the detachment. Excellent.
Walking back to the pool table, she feels the eyes of unoriginal Preppy following her. This guy has less appeal and charm than Seresin, and that’s saying something. Whatever. He can look, but he cannot touch.
“Who’s the pretty boy?” Halo asks.
“Someone completely derivative. Called me “sweetheart” and “pretty little thing.””
Halo cringes.
Bob just shakes his head into his beer, but his eyes widen at something behind her. Looking over her shoulder, apparently it’s not something, but rather someone. The stench of unoriginal cologne is also a dead giveaway. Nat closes her eyes and prays for patience. And nose plugs.
“Okay. Not sweetheart. How about hot as fuck? Sexy?”
Seriously? Nat hopes he’s attempting humor and not just that dense. Or lame.
Nat spins fully around and fixes her steely stare on Mr. Clueless.
“Listen. In case I didn’t make it clear, which I’m sure a toddler could’ve picked up on better than you, but let me spell it out for you. Again. I’m. Not. Interested.”
The guy just laughs it off. Evidently, amused with himself, and ignorant he’s an audience of one.
“Why not? I think you need to reconsider because baby, you don’t know what you’re missing,” he pivots and attempts for charming by flashing her a smile that resembles a toothpaste commercial. Or a demonic clown. And clearly missing the mark worse than the targets they were trying to hit today in the sims.
Nat notices behind him, he’s got a group of three guys standing in audience. Awesome. Douches that travel in brat packs. Her favorite.
“Want to help your friend here and buy him a clue?” she asks his peanut gallery.
They just raise their hands up, as if to say no way, or we are not a part of this. Fucking hell. Useless.
Rolling her eyes, Nat leans in close, “Okay Ken doll. Aside from me not being even remotely interested, you couldn’t handle me. Let’s just leave it at that, okay?”
Message received, she thinks. Nat goes to walk away, but the guy has the audacity and, apparently, no working brain cells, and grabs her arm.
Oh no, pencil dick did not just touch her, she fumes as she rips her arm out of his grasp.
Bob and Halo immediately spring into action, but stop at the last minute. Looks of relief oddly coming over their features.
“Get your fucking hands off her,” is spoken menacingly behind Nat.
Ah. Clarity. Nat smirks as Preppy’s eyes go wide. Normally, she’d be annoyed at the interruption and white knight bullshit, but honestly, she’s still sore from her ejection. And tired. The fight just isn’t in her tonight, and she’ll gladly defer this one. If not for the simple reason, she’d like to continue her game and beer. She was kicking Halo’s ass, and that’s a rarity.
Nat steps back into the warm chest of her husband, and his protective umbrella. Her bare legs and shoulders rubbing up against a scratchy fabric, sending goose bumps up and down her body, along with his deep voice. Is he still in his flight suit? Glancing behind her, she confirms her suspicions, and notes he’s still wearing his aviators too. What the hell? Did he fly here and walk off his F-18 she wonders?
Preppy deeply swallows, but tries to appear braver than his body language is betraying.
“Oh? And who are you? GI Joe?”
Nat’s eyebrows shoot up. This guy surprisingly has balls, and nothing upstairs, with apparently all blood flow diverted between his legs. Bradley is pretty intimidating looking, with his size, gear, and strong jaw set to extraordinarily pissed, so Preppy is either itching for a fight he’ll lose, or is plain old stupid. She votes for the latter. Bradley has the clear advantage, dwarfing this entitled shithead, so a fight would be futile. But hella fun to watch, she smirks.
“I’m her husband.” No other explanation offered. And pretty sexy, she has to admit.
“Shit,” they hear muttered as Preppy dickhead backs away and scampers off. Bradley turns to watch him, his glare and looming presence ensuring he stays away for good.
Turning back, Bradley rubs the back of his neck, clearly unsure how to greet his independent wife.
“Sorry. I know you can handle yourself, but I just saw red when he grabbed you.”
Nat shakes her head and puts her finger to his lips, “Thank you,” she says.
Bradley just quirks an eyebrow and sends her a look of skepticism
“Seriously,” she chuckles. “Thank you. I wasn’t in the mood. How did you get here so fast and why aren’t you changed?”
“Bob texted me SOS. Said some man wasn’t taking the hint, and I hightailed it over here, worried. I have clothes in my truck I can grab.”
Nat turns to look at Bob, who has the gall to look nonplussed. “Rooster and I have an understanding,” is all he offers in explanation.
Ok, then. Apparently, she needs to have a one with Bob too. And stat.
Bradley just leans down and whispers, “You have people who love you and want to protect you. It’s not a bad thing. Promise. Besides, it’s good for my ego now and then,” he finishes on a wink.
“Oh well — now. As long as we protect that,” she grumbles with an annoying hint of breathlessness. His winks are her kryptonite, and he damn well knows it.
Bradley kisses the tip of her nose and says, “Down, tiger. I’m going to go change,” and departs.
Halo saddles up next to her and leans on her pool cue as they watch Nat’s sexy as hell naval pilot husband exit. Letting out a breath Halo offers, “You know, you’re lucky, right?”
Nat bristles a bit at the insinuation and is about to launch into a fem-fueled rebuttal when Halo holds up her hand. “Relax Phoenix. I wasn’t talking about the male macho act. I was simply stating that you have a husband who wants to protect you, but also understands you. That guy would never do anything to jeopardize or demean you. He’s man enough to step back when needed but also is someone we need when some guys like asshole over there, don’t clue into when a female says no. You and I both know unfortunately there are far too many who missed that important life skill, and need to be intimidated by other men. Rooster protects AND respects. LUCKY,” she punctuates, and continues around the table to take her next shot.
Nat’s eyes track her husband as he renters with his clothes in hand to change into, and heads to the bathroom. With a jolt, she realizes, as cuddly and soft as she knows him to be, he can cut a pretty intimidating form if you don’t know him. It’s a heady and super sexy realization.
Huh. Protects and respects. Nat is lucky.
She sends Halo a knowing smile over her shoulder, and goes to follow him into the bathroom.
They’re both about to get lucky.
Hurt
“Rooster? It’s Bob.”
Bradley shoots up in bed after he blindly grabbed for his phone. His blurry eyes try to make out the time. It’s the middle of the day, but he must’ve dozed off once he put the baby down for his nap.
It’s still light out and the house is eerily silent. He realizes Nat should’ve been home by now, and only the sounds of the baby monitor are drowning out the quiet.
“Bob? What’s wrong,” he asks. His heart starts to race, knowing there’s no good reason Bob is calling and not his wife.
“It’s Phoenix. She’s hurt.”
“What, hurt? How?”
“She was deplaning and got light-headed. Fell off the ladder and hit the ground hard. They think she might have a broken collar bone and maybe hit her head. Thank God, she was still wearing her helmet.”
“Fuck. Is she okay? Are you guys at the hospital on base?”
“She’s okay, besides the obvious pain. And you know, Phoenix, pissed off at the inconvenience more than anything. We are at the base hospital, she’s in x-ray now.”
“I’ll be right there,” he says and hangs up.
His next call is to Penny to see if she can come over and babysit. Thankfully she’s free, but has no doubt she’d drop everything if needed anyway, and makes it to their house in record time.
After getting Penny up to date, Bradley quickly speeds off to the ER. He’s thankful to the big man upstairs that it’s just a broken bone and not something far more serious, but he can’t help but worry if Bob was downplaying things to make him not freak out.
Regardless, he hates to see his wife hurt and knows this isn’t only going to be physically painful, but also mentally. And that is so much worse when it comes to Nat.
Parking the car, Bradley hustles into the waiting area and spots Bob immediately.
“Hey man. Any updates?”
“No not yet. Damn, you got here fast. Everything okay at home?”
“Relax, Godfather. Penny has him,” Bradley reassures Bob. Most days it’s cute to see how protective Bob is of their son, but right now, Bradley is a little annoyed at the implication that he’d just leave his son unattended.
Just then, a doctor walks out. Saved by the white coat, Bob.
“Natasha Bradshaw?”
“Yes. I’m her husband. How is she?”
“She’s going to be okay. She’s fractured her clavicle and has a mild concussion, so we will monitor her overnight. No surgery for the break, but she’ll be in a splint and sling for some time to set it. She’s unfortunately going to be uncomfortable for a while. If all goes well tonight, she should be good to go home tomorrow, and in due time I’m sure she’ll be back up in the air without issues.”
Bradley releases his breath. Thank god.
“Can I see her?“ he asks.
“Of course. They are getting her set up in a room now, so once she’s settled, I’ll have a nurse come get you.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Bradley says and takes a seat. His legs suddenly feeling heavy. The stress of the news coupled with not much sleep with a baby at home has left him feeling exhausted lately. He’s not surprised Nat felt light-headed. This is as good a wake-up call as they’re going to get, and he dreads the conversation he will have with her.
“What happened, Bob?”
“We were deplaning and talking, next thing I know I see her falling. It scared the shit out of me. When I got down and saw she was conscious, thank the lord, she said she got light-headed and lost her balance.”
Bradley scrubs his face. He’s been secretly thinking Nat headed back to work too fast, but how does he say anything? He wants to be supportive, but he’s also worried she’s pushing herself too hard. What a clusterfuck.
“This is why you leave the planes to men and the babies to women,” they hear taunted behind them.
What. The. Fuck.
Bradley springs out of his seat and launches himself at the dick face who dared to disrespect his wife. He slams the guy up against the wall as the others attempt to hold him back. Good luck. There’s no greater rage and strength than a man worried and angry about the love of his life. No one can challenge the unleashed power and strength radiating beneath the surface of his skin. And the fucker who tries to interfere and gets hurt, deserves it.
“Say that to my face, asshole!” Bradley says and slams him into the wall again.
“Rooster. Come on, man,” he hears Bob attempt to reason. “He’s not worth it.”
“Speak about my wife again, and I will end you. Got it?” He pushes his forearm into the guy's throat for good measure, making breathing difficult.
The guy meekly chokes out a nod and Bradley releases him, watching the sad sack of shit slump to the ground.
“Leave,” Bradley commands, and the guy quickly crawls away.
“Shit, Rooster. You good?” Bob asks, still trying to make sense of the scene they just created in the hospital.
Bradley closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in through his nose.
“Fine. Just give me a moment.”
After endeavoring to calm himself, Bradley asks the nagging question of the past month, “Is he the guy who’s been giving Nat a hard time?” he asks.
“Yes. The guy is an asshole. Total sexist jerk, in case he didn’t make that clear.”
Bradley goes to move, wanting to pummel the shit out of the guy once and for all, but Bob quickly gets in his way.
“Getting court marshaled isn’t going to help Nat, Rooster. Or your son.”
“Fuck! You’re right, but something needs to be done about him,” he vows.
“No doubt. I’m sure his days are numbered,” Bob tries to reassure.
Just then, a nurse comes to get them and take them to Nat, thankfully distracting Bradley. Bob is certainly thankful for it.
Bradley enters her room first, and immediately goes to his wife.
Nat’s mixed look of defiance, stoic pain, and vulnerability completely disarms Bradley.
“You okay?” he asks and leans down to tenderly kiss her hello, fighting the urge and knowing a crushing hug would be catastrophic.
“I’m fine. Pissed. And freaking embarrassed. I might never want to show my face again, but I’ll be fine.”
“Nat. It could happen to any of us. But maybe we need to talk about how much sleep you’re getting…” Bradley’s phone rings, interrupting him. He notices it’s Maverick, and goes to step out to take it. He’s probably heard about Nat by now and is worried.
“I’ll be right back, it’s Maverick.” He leans down and kisses the top of her head.
He fills Maverick in on the accident and Maverick promises to head over and help Penny with the baby tonight, helping to further alleviate some of the parental guilt he’s feeling, not being home and staying with Nat overnight. Thank God for them.
When he reenters the room, Bob makes a quick exit, and he’s left alone with his clearly pissed off wife. Fantastic.
“Want to tell me about what went down in the waiting area?” she asks with frosty curiosity.
Shit. Bob and his big mouth.
Bradley throws his hands up in the air in exasperation.
“What do you want me to say, Nat? I’ve had it with that guy. He’s been disrespecting you for weeks now. I’ve let it slide, but he took it too far today. You were hurt, and he didn’t need to add insult to injury.”
“Bradley. I don’t need you fighting my battles. What happens when you’re not there? I need to wield my own power. You know this.”
Fuck. He hates this. It’s a reoccurring battle between him and her when these incidents pop up. He knows she’s strong. He knows she’s tougher than more than half the men in the Navy, him included, but it doesn’t override or negate his instincts to protect his wife. She may be a badass fighter pilot, but she’s also his wife and mother of his child. He’ll never learn the right way to defend her that satisfies both, and he’s learned to live with that. What he can’t live with is someone hurting her. It’s a hard line for him.
“I know. And I’m sorry, but if you think I’m just going to stand back and do nothing, you’ve clearly underestimated my love for you. It. Won’t. Work. Nat. Never has and never will. I don’t care if I’m married to an MMA fighter, for Christ’s sakes, I’ll defend who I love. It’s how I’m hardwired. I know you can kick ass all on your own. I love and respect that. But when you can’t, like being laid up in a hospital bed with broken bones and a head injury, I will be there to send the necessary message. You’re my WIFE. End of story.”
Nat looks down and fiddles with the hospital blanket. Stubborn tears gather in her eyes, and when she looks up, Bradley’s fight completely leaves him. He’s just left feeling like an asshole.
He pulls the chair up alongside her bed. “I’m sorry. I’m tired and stressed. I’m just worried about you. It’s tough enough wondering if you’re coming home each night, but add in the worry of some guy taking advantage? It’s just too much sometimes. You are our everything, Nat. We need you.”
“I’m sorry too. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful or emasculate you. I just hate how even one inch or ounce of weakness can completely derail the power balance I constantly have to battle with. It’s not fair and exhausting. Sometimes I wish you could fight all my battles because it would be just easier. I know yours is coming from a place of love, but usually it’s a slap down from everyone else.”
Nodding, Bradley gets it. He hates it too. He wishes he could slap everyone with some common sense and sensitivity training, but unfortunately it’s just not reality. Until then his temper is going to prick and he’s going to react.
“I can’t fix others or control their actions. But we have a little boy at home that we are going to raise right, and it’s something we can control and contribute to this fucked up society. Let’s focus on that, deal?”
Nat offers a small smile, “Deal,” she agrees.
“But listen. This guy steps out of line again, I need you to tell me. Please?”
“Okay. Promise.”
Thank God. Bradley picks up her good hand and kisses her knuckles.
“You know, I’m kind of pissed I missed it. I bet it was hot as hell watching you Hulk out. Bob said you were scarier than he’s ever seen,” Nat confesses with a yawn, indicating her pain medication is kicking in.
“Baby, I’ll protect you and our son with everything in me. That was just a taste. Why don't you rest? I’m not going anywhere.”
And he doesn’t.
He’s going to be a friend to her. Show up for her. Dance for her. Comfort her. Respect her. Kiss her. Adore her. Hold her. Sing for her. Love her. And protect her.