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He slipped through the Hard Deck’s back door so close to closing that the place was empty of all but employees.
“Sorry!” Came a muffled call from below the bar. “Last call was fifteen minutes ago…we open back up at 11 tomorrow.” A rack of glasses clinked in chorus as Penny stood up, hauling them onto the polished wood with practiced ease.
The naval aviator scuffing his feet in the doorway was not quite the person she’d expected.
Penny had been introduced to all of the special detachment’s members - a blur of driven, bright young men and women with eclectic call signs. They left an impression the way that many who passed through Miramar did - earnest, arrogant, and fearless. Rooster was much the same, though Penny got the sense his bravado was tempered by something. Age, perhaps, or the yolk of a legacy she’d heard of only from afar.
“Hi Penny…I know it’s late. I just…I was wondering if I could put a little time in on the piano?”
Bradley ducked his head to run fingers through warm brown hair, only managing to meet her eyes with what felt like a force of will. Dressed in a worn Hawaiian shirt and regulation khakis - he must have come from the base despite the late hour.
An unasked-for explanation spilled out. “My assignment doesn’t have a piano, and I didn’t have time to pack the portable one I usually bring with me on deployment. And…”
The man stuttered to a stilted stop. Glanced out the window and swallowed hard.
Penny waited him out with a compassion born of good bartending and parenting.
She’d owned the Hard Deck in the years after Bradshaw had passed through the Top Gun program. And while she knew Pete and he had some kind of history, she’d never pried.
It had shocked her when Maverick gave up a generous sliver of the real story. She couldn’t say if she agreed with his decisions or even completely understood them. A lifetime of loss had shaped those choices - losses Penny would wish on no one. And even with a decade-plus of distance from the flashpoint, it was clear his actions pained him. Maverick had always been the heart-on-his-sleeve type.
Rooster was generous and gregarious, allowing him to deflect without offending. The life of the party and somehow the aviator she had learned the least about in the last two weeks.
Bradley though, was a clearly closed book.
So there was a good chance she’d get half the truth out of him—maybe less.
“It’s…it’s just been a really fucking shitty day. And…I just was hoping to…I dunno…shut my head off for a bit.” He met her eyes then - a challenge and a plea in one. An expression that would’ve been at home on Mav - and didn’t that speak volumes?
News traveled fast in their little world. She’d expected most of the faces raising a glass in a solemn fond toast to Admiral Kazansky. It had felt right to join in a few toasts with the old timers - men who’d made their careers in the Navy and knew the admiral personally and some only by reputation. Penny had only met the man a handful of times - but Thomas Kazansky left a quietly lasting impression in all the right ways.
There were ten minutes till they technically closed. Jorge, the night porter, would be around for at least another hour or two after that.
She relented more easily than she would have some other night.
“I can’t serve you anything Rooster, that okay?”
Deep relief warmed his eyes, and a nod followed easily. “Yeah…not a problem. Thank you, Penny…seriously.”
She tilted her head not unkindly towards the upright and turned back to continue working, hauling another crate of empty bottles to the back through the door to the kitchen.
A quiet scrape followed when Bradley settled at the bench. One warm chord followed another in a probably minor key while he ran his fingers up a scale with confident nonchalance (her understanding of music terminology was rudimentary at best).
Penny wondered if the young man might have bolted when she ferried another empty rack out to be filled.
The silence had stretched for longer than felt intentional.
But Bradley was stubbornly sitting - gearing up to fight a war it felt like - fingers poised over the white keys. It reflected a hesitance Rooster hadn’t shown a few weeks earlier when he’d roped the entire bar into a sing-a-long, all while pounding out confident, jaunty bars.
The song that gently spilled out was nothing like what she perhaps naively assumed he would start with.
Something modern but classically influenced seemed almost at odds with the piano that had produced only pop tunes and ballads up until that point. The quality of sound was not the product of someone who only pulled out a hat trick in a bar. She’d seen a few of those - primarily guys looking to impress a date - able to mimic a tune or two and little else.
This was practice and passion. Careful, thoughtful precision and far more emotion than Penny thought could come from the keys.
She couldn’t imagine carriers had luxuries like pianos available.
When Amelia was eight –wanting to be the next Beethoven–Penny bought a floppy portable keyboard for her to practice with in between lessons. Unfortunately, a poor substitute for the actual instrument was all she remembered about it. Amelia had moved on to a new interest in a few months, and the keyboard had been lost in a move.
Something like that rolled-up board could fit in a duffle, sidled up against a paperback or a tablet she could easily picture on a long deployment in the middle of the ocean. Of course, it had likely been a source of much speculation and probably ribbing. But she could see how Bradshaw would have been able to shake that off - especially if he seemed as dedicated as his playing indicated.
Unexpected in a warmly startling way. Like finding out there was an invisible curtain she’d been allowed to peak past.
Ostensibly restocking - but mostly wiping down the same length of the wooden bar - Penny didn’t expect the ache in the back of her throat that rose from nowhere.
There was a concentrated…something… to Bradley’s playing that felt borderline desperate. Maybe conveying what he’d been unable to explain earlier. She’d say it felt like loss if she were a betting woman.
A ducked head hid Rooster’s expression behind long shadows and the hint of non-regulation length curls. A sniffle and a quick harsh swipe under the eyes between chords confirmed something more than a shitty day.
Guilt trickled into her veins. It was clear that whatever was going on would have been happening in private if he had a choice.
Maybe she wasn’t as far off as she thought.
When the last notes faded into the quiet, Penny dared a glance. Which felt silly - this was her bar after all.
But to say that Rooster was winning a battle against his emotions was perhaps a kindness. That wasn’t to say he didn’t have a handle on them. No. But the deep, DEEP shaky breaths and a head tilted a little higher than usual gave it away.
“That…that was beautiful.”
She almost wished she could take it back. Not because it wasn’t true but because it felt wrong to disturb the fallen silence. And it was clear the young man hadn’t expected the audience. Like almost every Navy man she had ever met, Rooster seemed allergic to the hint of vulnerability.
“...thanks…” Startled wasn’t the right descriptor for his quiet tone, but it dovetailed with a sadness that felt far deeper.
“My uncle taught it to me.” He swallowed some further upset - fingers tracing over the keys too lightly to engage them.
And in that moment came clarity she hadn’t expected.
Because Pete couldn’t hold a tune to save his life.
Not many in the Navy were unaware of the legendary exploits of Iceman and Maverick. Life and death - could bind people together in unconventional and unbreakable ways. Not just on the job.
Obviously, it had extended to the circle of people pivotal to Rooster’s life. Whether Pete’s choice to pull those papers over a decade ago had fractured Bradley’s relationship with that web of support was unclear. Maybe it didn’t matter; time didn’t always distance hurt in linear ways.
“I’m so sorry, Rooster.”
The words felt inadequate despite how sincerely she meant it.
It was lonely, the space between the bar and the piano feeling far more expansive than it usually did. Bradley looked uncomfortable; a quick nod of thanks was all he could offer. Then, before the moment could get more awkward, like an F-18’s visor descending, the aviator turned back to the keys to continue playing. Not quite as melancholy this time, but another tune she didn’t recognize all the same.
Penny took her leave quietly, stopping in the cramped office to tally the day’s cash.
Jorge raised a curious eyebrow from where he was already elbow deep in cleaning tasks.
“Don’t worry about him, Jorge. He’ll be done soon. I’ll make sure he’s not in your way.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he responded readily. It was a good thing he had picked up English better than she had picked up Spanish - she was sure she’d butchered at least one of those sentences.
They worked quietly to the sounds of another tune. By the time Penny collected her bag and pulled on a jacket, Rooster had vanished. Bench tucked in place and the rolltop down on the piano…he’d been silent this time as he’d slipped away.