Chapter Text
Having lost to Hangman yet again, Phoenix passed her pool cue to Bob and moved towards the bar. Emma had been watching and there were five beers waiting. As per their king of the hill style tournament, winner stays in and loser buys the next round. She knew not to expect to see Seresin at the bar till Rooster and/or Coyote showed up, even then it was rare.
“Maybe I should take up darts, so your paycheck doesn’t all come from my wallet,” Trace huffed as she attempted to pick up all five drinks at once. Emma stopped her, grabbing two of the drinks. The bar wasn’t busy yet, so no one would notice if she stepped away.
“Oh I don’t mind,” the bartender told the pilot, “Gives me a chance to say hi.” They set the bottles down on the high top that had been claimed by the Daggers. Penny had all but assigned Emma to the young aviators. First, because it would be hypocritical to not let Emma get a word in with her friends. Every patron knew to expect slower service when Maverick was taking up his usual seat. Second, and more importantly, she wasn’t put off by the high flyers’ egos. The owner - and other customers - could count on her to tell her friends exactly when they were too loud or too drunk or both.
Bob wasn’t very good at pool, but Fanboy and Payback had each had their turn losing to Hangman. The two cheered like he’d won the world series when Bob got one in the pocket, and narrated his second shot like they were a pair of sports announcers rather than pilot and backseater. Emma laughed along.
It was this running joke that had gotten her in with the Daggers. She remembered that night, about a month after that first big mission. It was Rooster’s turn and Fanboy and Payback were following him around with their ‘broadcast’ while Harvard and Yale did the same to Hangman. They were tied, each with one left.
“Now watch as Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw lines up what could be his second to last shot,” Payback was using his near-empty beer as a microphone
“Please shut up,” and Bradley was having none of it.
Emma had seen the end of the game coming, and she had walked over with a dozen more drinks. Walking with a full tray was hard enough, but it was made worse when also having to avoid men with pool cues. She was glad when the two bottles meant for Rooster and Hangman were the only ones left and moved to stand with Phoenix, Bob, Halo, and Fritz.
Rooster took his shot, sinking the seven ball. His second shot hit the eight ball but didn’t sink it. Hangman’s turn. Fanboy took up where Payback had left off, “For the first time in Dagger squad history, the next round could fall on billiard champion Jake Seresin.”
Harvard moved to stand next to the table, “That’s right, Mickey. This is the closest he has come to losing since being stationed here in North Island.”
Jake rolled his eyes, and took his own shot. The was the click of the cue ball hitting number eleven but not the distinctive thud of it landing in the pocket. It was quite for a beat, but then Phoenix was laughing. And so was Coyote. Bob and Omaha now too.
“Okay, okay,” Halo put her hands up, but her grin was on the brink of turning into a fit of giggles, “We need to let Bradshaw focus, so that Bagman can buy our beers.”
Jake Seresin’s face was a mix of surprise and panic as he backed away from the table, but Bradley looked confused. As if he was trying to - and couldn’t - make sense of the fact that he was suddenly in the lead. Confusion was quickly replaced with the cockiest smirk Emma had ever seen. He stepped back up to take his next turn.
To the Daggers’ delight, and Hangman’s horror, the eight ball went in. The cheering was louder than their earlier laughter!
“Alright, settle down. Rooster you know that if Penny rings the bell, she’ll single you out,” Emma said sternly, but it turned playful as she asked Jake for his card. Looking back, she didn’t know why they had never intimidated her. They should, but she saw them just like every other customer at the bar.
Bradley waited till Jake had returned to the table before approaching the bar. He was the only one of the Daggers she was familiar with at that point; they had made small talk on the slow nights he came in with Maverick.
“Finish your beer already?”
He took a seat, “No, I just wanted to thank you.”
“For what?”
“Helping me win,” he grinned at her.
Emma couldn’t tell if he was flirting or not, “Oh? How did I do that?”
“Us pilots are a superstitious bunch, and the only difference between that last round and every other time I’ve played Bagman is you watching beside me.”
She tried not to but part of a laugh escaped her and it made his grin widen.