Chapter Text
The first time Bradley meets Hangman, it’s at TOPGUN.
It was obvious from the start that they were going to be rivals, and most likely stay that way.
“‘Rooster’? What kind of a call-sign is that?” Hangman had said, a toothpick caught between his teeth. An over-confident grin was ever-present on his face.
“I don’t know, ‘Hangman’ isn’t much better.” Bradley quipped. Hangman turned back in his seat, a fire in his eyes. Bradley hated it.
He’d been a ball of rage back then, so hurt, not only from his mother’s passing but at Mav. So when this asshole shows up with enough fire to match his, it only seems to make him more angry.
Phoenix had slapped his arm, effectively shutting him up as their instructor walked in. She grumbled, which he only caught bits of. Something about “over egotistical pilots,” and “gonna get us killed”. Bradley sighed, tuning her out in favor of staring at the blonde only a few seats ahead of him.
Hangman was laughing when Bradley looked over again, his shoulders shook quietly as he whispered back and forth with the person next to him, Coyote if he remembered correctly. The whole time, he had that stupid toothpick in his mouth, rolling side to side without a care in the world.
Although Bradley wouldn’t admit it out loud, at the time Hangman was already an incredible flier. That doesn’t mean he was nice to work with, even now he’s still a pain in the ass.
Bradley had been counting down the days til their classes ended and he would never have to hear Hangman’s stupid remarks about his flying ever again. That is, until he started to enjoy their banter. Even if Hangman got under his skin one too many times, it was their own dance, making the same comments day in and day out for the next 13 weeks. His anger simmered down, flying being a helpful outlet and maybe his daily ‘fights’ with Hangman were too.
When their ‘fights’ got playful, on the borderline of flirting is when things got bad.
Of course, Phoenix noticed and tried to set him straight.
Don’t get attached, she warned. He’s called ‘Hangman’ for a reason, he’ll leave you high and dry just like everyone else.
Unluckily for Bradley, that’s basically what happened.
He could feel a tiny knot, tucked right in the center of his chest start to form. It tightened anytime he thought of Hangman's glowing smile or his perfectly gelled hair or how his golden skin shone in the summer sun.
Some mornings, when he woke up with a sore throat or it was a little harder to breathe, he ignored it. He wasn’t about to let some stupid pilot be his downfall when he worked so damn hard to get where he was. So, he let his anger return and turned his focus onto graduating. He put his walls back up, let his words turn cold and sharp.
Phoenix noticed, he knew she did, but she didn’t mention it.
Hangman seemed to notice as well. His smiles became hard, faker than ever before and his words more hurtful. They cut deep but the roots in Bradley’s chest didn’t leave, they didn’t shrink. If anything they grew and Bradley was more on edge than he’d like to admit.
Thankfully, it wasn’t as bad as he anticipated by the time classes were over. He didn’t see Hangman for a while after that, maybe a year or two. Of course, that not-as-tiny knot in his chest never went away; the soft dreams of him and Hangman were a newer thing though. Sometimes they’d be in bed, lazing around until the morning turned to the afternoon, or they’d be making breakfast, scenarios so achingly domestic it made Bradley’s heart squeeze and his lungs hurt.
Of course, he pushed it down, nobody had to know.
Phoenix and him had been stationed a number of times together over the course of their career. Slowly, they had become better friends than either of them had expected, but it was a welcomed change. He had told her about his parents, about Mav and their falling out; hell, he’d even told her about the roots but of course she’d already caught on.
She could come off a little mean at first but she had her own way of showing she cared. Phoenix could always tell when his day was shit, if his throat was extra sore that day, if he had a more vivid dream than usual. She’d just sit with him, she’d listen if he needed to talk or get him a glass of water without a word shared between them. Bradley found he appreciated it more than he could put into words.
They were never far from each other, although they had to go through some mission’s on their own.
‘Always a call away’ had turned into their motto.
Though, it seemed like Hangman was never far either. Over the next couple years, he and Hangman had been stationed together a handful of times. Every single time, the knot in his chest grew, even just the tiniest bit, squeezing until he felt he couldn’t breathe anymore. He called Phoenix a lot during those missions.
He pushed through, somehow, still desperately trying to ignore the roots growing in his chest anytime he thought about the other pilot.
~~~~~~~~~~
The first time Bradley coughed up a flower, it was when he’d been on a mission with Natasha and Hangman.
Bradley and Tasha had been in his assigned room, spilling gossip about their teammates when he had suddenly gotten choked up.
“Oh my god, did you hear about Crawler and Hatch. It was ridiculous, I can't believe they got caugh-'' She exclaimed, giggling.
Bradley coughed hard, cutting her off. The sound of his ragged and strained breathing filled the room as his lungs refused to cooperate.
“Bradshaw?” Tasha called out but he couldn’t answer, his throat closed impossibly.
His chest spasmed as he gasped for air, something working its way up from his lungs. He leaned over his knees, his ears starting to ring as he tried to breathe. In a heartbeat, Tasha was next to him, a hand running down the length of his back.
“Just let it out, Bradley. Don’t fight it.” She whispered, a soft presence by his side.
He could feel it rise up his throat, the tangy taste of metal that had spread over his tongue, the rough scratch as he spat it out onto his hand.
A flower bud. A flower bud covered in blood.
Tasha sighed while he stared down at it in silent terror. He cupped it in his hands, he couldn’t even tell what flower it was but he already knew who it was for. He let out a humorless chuckle.
Of course. Who else could it be?
A white kleenex plucked the bud from him and dropped it in the trash. Tasha sits back beside him. She grabs his hand, intertwining their fingers and sighing again.
“You really do have the worst taste in men.” She said, sounding exasperated.
Bradley let out a surprised laugh. Tears rippled behind his eyes, he tried to wipe them away quickly but Tasha caught his wrist. He sniffled and looked up at her confused.
“Don’t fight it.” She repeated as she tugged him to rest his head on her shoulder.
So he didn’t. He cried, and cried and cried until he couldn't anymore. They didn’t talk, Tasha didn’t try to quiet or calm him, she just let him go through it, let him feel until he was ready.
When he was done and his voice was his own once more he lifted his head and spoke up.
“Thank yo-”
“Oh shut it, you would do the same for me and you know it. Now, we are going to get through this, understand?” She said, staring at him with such determination it was hard to deny her.
So he nodded, smiling sadly and gripping her hand tight.
Tasha hummed, leaning them both back to stare up at the ceiling.
“Want me to kill him?” She asked, he knew she was serious.
“Not yet.” He settled on, taking deep breaths.
Lying on his back, side by side with his best friend, his ‘arch-rival’ only a few rooms away, Bradley couldn’t help but feel as if fate was toying with him.