Chapter Text
They were being so obvious, it almost made Bob laugh. He liked to pride himself a little on his ability to observe and analyze on a whim; it came with the job after all. But even a blind person could see how infatuated Phoenix and Rooster were with each other.
What intrigued him a little more though, was the fact that he had just met the two. He had been simply munching on his peanuts, clocking in every single of the khaki clad aviators that trickled into the Hard Deck. He needed a scope on the competition, the camaraderie and the people he’d be flying with over the next month.
It was just routine for him.
He knew Hangman and Coyote were close, judging by their pissing contest antics. And he could tell that Seresin was well, more self absorbed than your average hotshot pilot. It didn’t help either that the two of them didn’t seem to be remotely aware of his presence right beside their game of pool.
He snickers, he hadn’t even been trying to hide.
Stealth ability aside, Phoenix made her air of authority known as soon as she stepped into the building closely followed by Payback and Fanboy. As soon as she shot a snarky remark at Hangman, he knew that his soon-to-be pilot meant business. So assured and confident in herself, yet never throwing caution to the wind.
He liked her already.
Payback and his backseater, Fanboy, were cool too. Not long after Phoenix had fussed over him being her new WSO and unceremoniously called a game of pool between her and Hangman, they had each approached him with a devilish gleam in their eyes and asked:
“Dude, Star Wars or Star Trek?”
To which he enthusiastically replied, “Star Wars, what the hell?”
Fanboy had dramatically expressed his delight in the answer, dropping his hands onto Bob’s shoulders shaking him back and forth.
“Bobby, we're gonna be such good friends.”
Payback crossed his arms, beaming in satisfaction and approval at his preference.
Coyote had then wandered over, nudging Payback with an eyebrow raised.
“We’ve got another one?”
“Sure as hell we do!” Payback replied which made Coyote whoop, pumping his fist as if he’d won the lotto.
“Wait ‘til you meet Rooster man, he’s gonna geek over so much shit with us it’s gonna be great.”
Bob could only laugh at that, relishing on the feeling of finding some people he could wholly relate to outside of the fighter pilot status.
Sinking a shot into the pocket, and gracefully turning around, Phoenix had looked him in the eye with a gleam and stated, “Bradshaw would probably quiz you on the whole saga once he finds out, Bob. Better prepare yourself just in case.”
He simply raised an eyebrow at that, wondering how most of the people here already knew each other. Huh, must’ve been the perks of not being stationed overseas for years.
Coyote giggled , rubbing his hands together and looked at his 3 other comrades in fandom.
“Fritz is gonna lose his shit!” He barked a laugh. “Starting down another man already isn’t a great start to this pissing contest.”
Bob couldn’t not laugh along as the others held each other up from their peels of laughter. He noticed that the little detachment that had been scrambled had nothing short of infectious camaraderie so far, which was considerably a breath of fresh air when it came to being back at Top Gun. The place literally reeked of competitiveness.
The bar began to fill up as the sun began to set on the horizon, painting hues of orange and red on the walls of the function. The music began to blare loudly too, along with the jokes and insults thrown between the amassing detachment as each member trickled in.
Phoenix, smugly walking up to Bob after grabbing a glass of water from the nice bartender named ‘Penny’, turned around and looked at Hangman scratching his head on the angle to hit one of his solids.
She had nudged Bob slightly, getting his attention while not looking at him.
“I wonder if he’s gonna be here,” She purses her lips. “Considering the pilots they’ve got out here, I’d say it’s only right.”
Bob silently counted the number of lieutenants surrounding their area, finding only eleven in the stead of the intended twelve. He raised an eyebrow and hummed. She didn’t outright say it, just assumed he was on the same wavelength as her.
“He’s not usually tardy, but there is some irony to his callsign.” Phoenix expressed, staring at the impending sunset. “I haven’t heard from the piece of shit in ages, but hey, one can only hope right?”
Bob visibly frowned at that, absorbing the implications of what Phoenix had just offhandedly mentioned. She didn’t even give him any context to it, just trusting him with a random piece of private information like nothing.
She patted his shoulder, muttering how she would ‘strangle that fucking hen the next time she saw him’ as she slid back over to the pool table.
Interesting, interesting indeed.
As the night dragged on, he noticed Phoenix casually throwing looks out to the parking lot out front, searching for something in particular. If his presumptions were correct, it was probably caused by the guy who’s callsign was Rooster. She didn’t even seem to be hiding it either.
Halo, who he’d been introduced to not long after her and Fritz had entered the bar, walked up to him to say hi to the newest WSO.
“So, you can see it too, can you?” She said, placing her now empty beer bottle onto the table beside Bob. “Good old birds of a feather, flocking together.”
“I haven’t even met the guy,” Bob replied, already understanding what she was talking about. “But is Phoenix always like that?”
Halo simply shrugged, “As long as I’ve known her, yeah.”
Popping another salted peanut into his mouth, he thought of the best way to approach the looming question in his head.
“So, uh, are they an item or something? Or…”
She snorted, rolling her eyes in exasperation as she turned to Bob.
“God I wish they were. Those two always dance around each other whenever they’re in the same vicinity. Idiots, that’s what the both of them are.”
“Have you guys at least tried to…?”
“Of course we have! You’ll see that it’s kind of a recurring theme with us all,” Halo explained, hands waving enthusiastically in front of her as if she were physically grabbing her thoughts. “A little joke, nudge or innuendo wouldn’t hurt anybody.”
He smirked at that, popping another peanut into his mouth at the thought.
Not even 10 minutes later, with the sounds of the speakers blasting and the drone of chatter reverberating against the walls of the bar, Phoenix abruptly straightened up from her game pool.
“Ah, let the show begin.” Halo muttered, elbowing Bob, getting his attention.
Bob looked up, hearing Phoenix yell out over the chatter, “Bradshaw! Is that you?”
Rooster, sauntering in with his apparently loud taste in Hawaiian shirts, walked over to the group, coolly giving Payback and Fanboy a nod to say ‘what’s up’.
“This is how I find out you’re stateside?” Phoenix asks lightly, humour in her voice.
“Yeah, just thought I’d surprise you.” Rooster easily replied, taking his shades off and cuffing them to his shirt.
She non-committedly hums, socking the man in the stomach right before sinking another ball into the pocket with her pool cue. Rooster doubles over and sheepishly looks up at Phoenix.
“I guess I deserved that.”
“Just thought I’d surprise you back.”
Bob sees Rooster’s face light up at that, straightening himself up and affectionately patting Phoenix’s arm as he heads over to greet the rest of the aviators.
“I think I’m about to puke.” Halo dramatically gags as they watch the interaction.
Bob huffs at that, finally seeing what she had been exclaiming about earlier. The two of them really were dancing around each other. They were inexplicably close, that much was blatantly obvious, but the real question lied on the matter of how close.
Rooster eventually shifted over to Halo and him, flashing a smile and bumping his fist against the former and then extended his hand in greeting to Bob.
“I don’t think we’ve met yet, I’m Rooster.”
Bob shook his hand, clocking the genuine grin behind it. He automatically thought Rooster was cool too.
“Bob.”
Rooster’s eyebrows raise.
“My name and callsign are the same thing.” Bob clarifies, as Bradshaw nods in understanding.
“I’m assuming Hangman already made fun of you for that.” Rooster stated, jutting a thumb over to the man currently gloating over his accurate shot.
Bob nodded, pointedly rolling his eyes at the life size Ken doll.
“Phoenix reamed Bagman a new one for it though,” Halo explained. “She called him a dickhead and everything.”
Rooster glanced at the woman currently instigating Hangman and sighed wistfully, turning back to Bob and Halo in acknowledgement.
“Sounds like Nat alright. Passionate is an understatement when it comes to her and the people she likes.”
“You would know a thing or two about that huh, Rooster.” Halo slyly commented, smirking at the surprised face that dawned on Bradshaw.
“And here I was thinking that I missed you guys,” Rooster rolled his eyes. “Bob, don't be like them. They’re very very meddlesome.” Finishing it off with a pointed look at Halo, who merely flashed an innocent smile.
She scampered off not long after, seeing that Fritz was drunkenly stuffing fries up his nose as the Ivy League boys, Harvard and Yale, were egging him on.
“Guys c'mon! You know that Fritz is a lunatic when he’s drunk!”
Rooster and Bob glanced from the ensuing scene back to each other, failing to hold in laughter as Fritz’s snorting sounds could be heard from a mile away.
He made comfortable conversation with the older man, learning that he had known Phoenix and Hangman since flight school and most of the others from his past deployments. Rooster seemed easy going and friendly, only enhanced by the fact that he was the only one out of the lot of them wearing casual attire. Let alone the loud Hawaiian shirt that screamed ‘California’. He could see why Phoenix was so close with the guy.
The bar seemed to fill up by the minute, people yelling, glass clattering against wood, laughs heard from every direction; the atmosphere was warm, relaxing in every way.
“Man, watch this.” Rooster said as he got up from the chair he’d been leaning on, patting Bob’s shoulder as he walked towards the direction of the jukebox, slyly winking at Phoenix along the way.
Unplugging the jukebox and abruptly stopping the blaring music to the bar’s dissatisfaction, Rooster sauntered over to the piano, running his hand over the old wood and sat himself down on the bench.
“Guys, c’mon.” Phoenix mutters to Payback and Fanboy as she drops her cue on the table and starts to drift on over to the piano.
Payback beckons Bob to join, who wasn’t entirely aware of what was happening but decidedly moved to go see what the fuss was about.
As Rooster began to tinkle away, experimentally pressing a few keys, Bob noticed that Phoenix, just ever so lightly, skimmed her hand over the performer’s shoulders, making eye contact with him as they both smiled, as if in their own world.
That was definitely not professional or ‘co-worker-esque’ in the slightest. He shakes his head, a slight smile on his face.
As Bradshaw began to sing a song that Bob recognized was a piece that his Grandma used to incessantly hum to, he couldn’t help but join in. The man of the hour was surprisingly singing pretty well too, which was a first in Bob’s experience, considering their profession and all. The whole bar was singing along with Rooster, but Bob’s back seater eyes clocked the looks he gave Phoenix, almost serenading her with every word and note.
If they were trying to fool anyone, they were pretty bad at it, and as the bar erupted in cheers, chanting Rooster’s name louder and louder, Bob couldn’t help but notice the fact that the loudest voice of them all belonged to Phoenix.
He rolls his eyes, deciding to not ever take any statements of denial from either of them if he ever ends up asking them some questions about one another.
His WSO eyes never missed a thing.