Work Text:
1.
“Wait, this is actually making me sad,” Fanboy said, still looking down at his phone. “Have you guys seen this post before?”
He held his phone out for the others to see what he was looking at—a Reddit screenshot on his Twitter feed—and Payback read it out loud for everyone who couldn’t see.
“’At some point, your parents picked you up, put you down, and never picked you up again.’”
“Speak for yourself,” Phoenix said. “I’m pretty sure my mom could still throw me over her shoulder if she wanted to.”
“Same,” Harvard agreed. “Last time I was home, my dad wanted me out of the kitchen because I kept stealing food while Mom was cooking, and he literally carried me out.”
That set the room off laughing, and everyone was quickly jumping in with the last time they could remember being picked up—blacking out at a bar and having a friend tote them home, pretending to fall asleep in the car in middle school to get carried inside, getting a piggyback ride from a high school teammate after a sprained ankle at practice.
“What about you, Bob?” Phoenix asked when she noticed her WSO wasn’t joining in. She knew Bob was a little shyer than the rest of the group, so she’d started being more intentional about bringing him into conversations. “When was the last time someone picked you up?”
“I’m not sure,” Bob said. “I can’t remember, but I would have been five I guess.”
“Why five specifically?” Fritz asked.
“That’s when my parents died,” Bob said. “My grandparents raised me after that, and they were too old to do stuff like that.”
The room went silent. The light-hearted moment was gone, and Fritz still had his mouth open, trying to think of a response other than that is the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. Bob shrank in his seat as he took in the others’ reactions.
Before anyone could figure out what to say, Phoenix wrapped her arms around Bob’s waist in a bear hug and lifted him off his feet. Bob froze for a split second, then giggled when he realized his pilot was holding him. The sound broke the tension, and the rest of the team laughed too.
“There,” Phoenix said lightly, dropping Bob back on his feet and reaching up to tousle his hair. “Now you remember the last time someone picked you up.”
2.
Maverick really was onto something with the dogfight-football-team-bonding-beach-day idea. They were horsing around in the sand like a bunch of kids, and Hondo was the only person on the beach with any idea of what the score was. Even so, most of the players were exactly as competitive as expected from a group of young, high-achieving, showboating aviators.
Bob, as usual, was the exception. It did seem like he was enjoying himself, and Maverick had noticed that the younger man was surprisingly athletic. He didn’t go for any of the showy touchdowns and bold tackles his peers did though. Instead, it was agile evasions, quick passes, and long runs.
The next time they broke for water and Bob moved for his sunscreen, Maverick announced that he needed some too and joined him. He got a few raised eyebrows, but Bob shared his sunscreen without question.
“So you’ve played some football before, huh?” Maverick asked as he rubbed sunscreen onto his shoulders.
“Uh… yes, sir,” Bob said hesitantly. Then, smiling a little, he added, “I made varsity my sophomore year.
“Atta boy, Bobby,” Maverick said. “I want to see you show off a little. Run it in instead of passing, you know?”
“Oh, that’s okay,” Bob said. “They’re having fun.”
“As much as I appreciate having at least one person in this group that isn’t trying to be a spectacle everyday of their life, I promise you they’d love it,” Maverick said.
“Alright,” Bob agreed, blushing up to his ears.
“Atta boy,” Maverick said again. He dropped the sunscreen back into Bob’s bag, and they went back to the game.
Bob didn’t go for it immediately. He still passed when it made sense to, and he still shied away from contact. But, some fifteen minutes later, Maverick spotted the exact moment he tucked the ball into his elbow instead of passing to Phoenix and took off at a sprint. The others came hurtling after him, but no one was nearly as fast as Bob.
“There we go, Bob, there we go!” Maverick cheered.
The team converged on him immediately, and within a few seconds, the WSO was on Bradley’s shoulders. Pete smiled as he watched. Bob was blushing up to his ears again, but he didn’t shy away from the attention. The others were cheering while Rooster paraded him around. If you weren’t looking closely, it’d be easy to miss the way Hangman was hovering, a hand out towards Bob in case he slipped from Rooster’s shoulders.
Maverick lifted his beer, toasting the team. He was definitely a team-building genius.
3.
Bob wasn’t entirely sure how he ended up standing in front of Omaha. Between the mission itself, thinking Maverick was dead, thinking Rooster was dead, Hangman going out after them, and all three arriving back on deck alive, the whole thing was kind of a blur. Neil was hugging him though, bouncing on his heels and saying Bob was fucking perfect, you fucking killed it, Bobby. It was nice, or at least it should have been. It would have been a lot nicer if Bob didn’t feel like he was about to puke down Omaha’s back.
“Bobby?” Neil said, slowing his movements as he realized he was holding Bob like the younger man was an oversized dead fish. “You okay? You look kind of pale.”
“I—” Bob paused, swallowing thickly. He felt like he was sinking, and Omaha’s face was starting to swim in front of him. “I don’t feel so good.”
He’d barely gotten the words out when his legs went out from under him. Omaha still had both hands on him, and he caught him easily.
“You’re alright; I’ve got you,” Neil said, easing Bob down to the ground carefully. “Tell me what you’re feeling, Bob.”
“Sick,” Bob mumbled. “Dizzy. Nauseous.”
“Okay, I think you’re just having an adrenaline crash,” Omaha said. “We’ll get you over to medical, and they’ll fix you up—get some food and an IV in you, you’ll be golden.”
Bob gave a small nod, the most movement he was willing to trust his stomach with. This kind of adrenaline crash wasn’t uncommon for aviators, especially after the kind of high-stress mission they’d just flown. It’d been years since Bob had had one this bad, but he’d seen it happen to plenty of others since then.
“I’m going to pick you up, okay?”
“Okay,” Bob said.
Neil eased him into a bridal carry, careful not to jar him, and started toward medical. The pilot went slow and kept up a steady stream of reassurance, but Bob still squeezed his eyes shut to focus on controlling his stomach. He must have looked even worse than felt because Halo sounded panicked when she saw them.
“Bob?” Halo said. “What happened to him?”
“Adrenaline crash,” Omaha said. “I’m taking him to medical.”
Callie made a sympathetic noise.
“Fanboy’s already down there with the same,” she said, falling into step behind Neil to follow them.
By the time they made it there, most of the team was already packed into the room. Fanboy had a juice box and an IV, and Maverick and Rooster were both getting physicals. Everyone else was lingering over the three of them protectively, and there was a flurry of panicked noises when they caught sight of Bob.
“He’s okay,” Omaha said quickly. “Like—not great, obviously, but he’s not hurt or anything.”
“Okay, everybody out of the way,” Maverick called. “Let the doctor through.”
After a few minutes with some sugar and fluids, the sinking feeling had settled to a level where Bob didn’t feel seconds from vomiting, and he could appreciate the team’s hovering. Phoenix was watching him especially close, and she kept reaching out to touch his forehead like she expected him to spike a fever. Neil was sticking close too.
“You look a little better,” Omaha commented, noticing Bob looking at him. “You’ve got some color back.”
“Yeah,” Bob said, “I feel a little steadier.”
“Stay in that bed,” Phoenix ordered. “No getting up until the doctor says you can, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bob agreed. “Hey, Omaha?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
Neil smiled and cuffed Bob’s shoulder gently.
“Of course, Bobby.”
4.
They had all wanted to do something to celebrate the announcement that the Daggers would be staying together as a permanent squad, but most of them were still too exhausted from the mission for their usual night out routine. Halo had suggested a move night instead, and Maverick volunteered to host. The first movie they put on was an 80s throwback that Rooster insisted was necessary viewing for everyone. Bob tried to pay attention, he really did, but he was losing the fight with sleep before they were an hour into the movie.
When he half-woke to the sound of movement, he could tell it was much later. Someone had taken off his glasses for him, but he could make out enough of the blur on the TV to recognize the closing sequence of a different movie than the one he’d fallen asleep to. The others were starting to move around, but he couldn’t force his eyes to stay open. He was dimly aware of Jake shushing the others—“shh, Bobby’s still asleep”—as sleep pulled him back under.
He was still in the same haze of half-sleep when he surfaced again. Most of the others were gone now, but he could hear Bradley and Maverick moving around the room. Bob didn’t even try to fight it this time and let himself drift.
“He’s going to have one hell of a crick in his neck if he sleeps like that all night,” Pete said quietly.
“Don’t wake him,” Rooster said. “He’s still wiped out from the mission. I can take him up to the guest room.”
He must have fallen fully back asleep, because the next thing he knew, he was pressed against Rooster’s chest as the older man climbed the stairs.
“B’dley?” Bob slurred, eyes barely opening.
“Shh, it’s okay,” Rooster whispered. “You can sleep here tonight. Mav’s got a guest room.”
Bob managed a small nod and then tucked his head back against Rooster’s collarbone. By the time they made it to the guest room, he had the presence of mind to strip out of his jeans and sweatshirt before crawling beneath the blankets, eyes already shut.
“Here’s your glasses,” Bradley said, setting them on the nightstand. “Need anything?”
“I’m good,” Bob mumbled into the pillow. “Goodnight, Bradley.”
“Night, Bob.”
5.
Part of being a permanent squad meant that Maverick was now in charge of the team’s regular PT, not just pushups. The bright side of that was that he could now send them all off on a run whenever he needed to get through some paperwork without the kids all over him. Most of them were already back from today’s run, either cleaning up in the locker room or waiting for the others in the classroom. They were still missing Bob and Phoenix though, which was unusual because they were usually some of the first members of the team finished.
“Have any of you seen Phoenix or Bob?” Pete asked as he reentered the classroom. The Daggers all shook their heads. “I’m going to go check on them. Everyone else, get ready for class.”
Once he was outside, Pete took off at a jog. He ran the course backward, figuring they were probably near the end of it by now, and eventually found his missing aviators a little over a quarter mile from the classroom. Bob was sitting on the ground, looking petulant, and Phoenix was standing over him with her hands on her hips.
“What’s going on, guys?” Maverick asked.
“We’re at an impasse,” Phoenix said. “Bob rolled his ankle, and I think he sprained it. He refuses to let me call for a ride back—”
“It’s embarrassing!” Bob interjected. “I’m fine!”
“And I refuse to let him run back on it and fuck it up worse,” Phoenix continued.
“Alright, let’s see it, kid,” Pete said, squatting down in the grass across from Bob.
Hesitantly, the younger man extended his right leg. The ankle already looked a little swollen, and there was a bruise starting to darken.
“Can you move it alright?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Bob said, flexing and turning his ankle. “Just hurts.”
“Probably a sprain then, like Phoenix said,” Maverick said as he stood up. “Let’s get you down to medical to get it checked.”
“Which brings us back to the impasse,” Phoenix said.
“Today’s your lucky day, Bob,” Maverick said. “I’m going to give you a ride.”
By the time they got back inside and the others caught sight of Pete giving Bob a piggyback ride, Phoenix already filming them, Bob was beginning to consider that it might have been less conspicuous to just let Phoenix call for help.
And if Mav was quietly pleased to see the payoff from the extra gym sessions he’d started once he’d noticed the team’s habit of carrying Bob around, the Daggers would never know.
+1.
Jake’s head was pounding in a way he’d only ever felt with concussions. He couldn’t remember what he did to concuss himself, which was probably further evidence that he did. Concuss himself that was. The position he was in had blood pooling in his head, and it did nothing to help with the headache or the nausea.
“Jake?” Bob said when the pilot groaned.
“Hmm?” Hangman grunted.
“Are you waking up?”
Jake paused and tried to focus on his surroundings. It was smoky and hard to see, and that didn’t make it any easier to figure out what was going on. They were still on the ship. If his memory was right, they had over an hour before they were supposed to fly the mission. What was on fire then?
After a few seconds, he realized that the swaying sensation and the feeling of blood pooling in his head wasn’t just the concussion. Bob Floyd had him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, and he was hurrying across the ship.
“What happened?” Hangman mumbled.
“Not sure,” Bob said. “Something blew up.”
Before Jake could ask anything else, Bob was pushing through a set of doors into the room where the medical staff had set up triage. The sudden rush of noise—doctors shouting orders, machines beeping, patients groaning—made Jake cringe. Someone hurried toward them with a gurney, and Bob eased him onto it carefully.
Now that he was sitting upright, Jake got his first glimpse at Bob’s face. The left lens of his glasses was cracked, and there was a thin trickle of blood inching down his cheek on the same side. All in all though, he looked much better than Jake felt.
“Alright, I’ll be back,” Bob said, turning back toward the door.
“Back?” Hangman said. “Whoa, whoa, whoa—where the hell are you going, Bobby?”
Bob was already gone though. Jake quickly tried to follow him, but one of the medics was in front of him before he could get up.
“Lieutenant Seresin, I need you to sit still,” she ordered.
“I need to help Bob,” Jake said.
“Lieutenant Floyd is a grown man, and I trust his assessment that he is fit to participate in the rescue efforts,” she said.
Her response sounded almost rehearsed, like this was far from the first time she’d said it, but Jake was too busy trying to slide off the gurney to question it. He kept sliding once his feet hit the ground though. His knees buckled immediately, and the medic quickly manhandled him back onto the gurney.
Once the doctor had determined that his brain wasn’t actively leaking out of his ears, they stuck a yellow sticker on his chest and moved him to the next room, with everyone else who wasn’t in need of immediate treatment. Most of the Daggers were already there, they put him next to Bradley. The other pilot took one look at the expression on Jake’s face and knew what had happened immediately.
“Bob got you too, huh?” Rooster said.
“Too?” Jake repeated.
“He carried me,” Rooster said emphatically. “Like a sack of potatoes, I swear to God. He had me thrown over his shoulder before I even knew what was going on.”
“Is everyone okay?” Jake asked.
“No serious injuries from what I’ve seen so far,” Bradley said. “Smoke inhalation all around, but Mav and Bob seem alright. Mav is up in command overseeing the evacuation with Ice. Javy’s got a busted ankle, Phoenix has some burns, and Fritz probably broke a couple ribs. They said I’m concussed.”
“Me too,” Jake said. He looked around the room. “I don’t see Halo or Yale.”
Bradley shook his head and frowned.
“I haven’t seen them yet.”
Ten minutes later, the aviators in question appeared. They both had yellow stickers on their shirts, and Yale was glassy eyed in a way that suggested he’d already been given pain medication.
“Guys, is Bob buff?” he asked as soon as he spotted the others. “I think Bob might be buff.”
“Let me guess,” Jake said. “He carried you down here.”
“He carried both of us,” Yale said breathlessly. “Like… at the same time. And then he just dropped us off at medical and said he was going to go tell Mav the Daggers were all accounted for and see if there was anyone else they were still looking for.”
“Jesus Christ,” Phoenix said. “He’s turned into Superman.”
Because none of the Daggers were in serious condition, they weren’t on any of the first helicopter evacs. It was nearly half an hour after Yale and Halo arrived before they were taken off the ship and flown to the base hospital for a more thorough medical workup. By that point, the fire had been extinguished, and everyone onboard was accounted for. Bob finally reappeared at the hospital, needing to be treated for smoke inhalation with the rest of them. He was still wearing his broken glasses, but someone had bandaged the cut on his cheek and the burns on his hands. Mav joined them a few minutes after Bob.
“We got lucky, considering the size of the explosion,” Pete said. “No loss of life.”
“Seems like a miracle,” Halo said. “That was…”
She frowned, unable to find the words, but the others were already nodding in agreement. The explosion had been so unexpected, and the smoke had built up so fast. The whole thing was already turning into a hazy, surreal memory.
“How’s everyone looking on injuries?” Maverick asked.
“Fritz and Halo have broken ribs, and Javy broke his ankle,” Fanboy reported. “Rooster, Hangman, and Yale have concussions. Phoenix has some more serious burns than the rest of us. I think it’s smoke inhalation, cuts, bruises, and mild burns for the rest of us.”
“Who are they keeping overnight?”
“Me and the concussion boys,” Natasha said.
“New band name,” Jake mumbled. “I call dibs.”
“Everyone who’s getting released today, you’re welcome to come home with me,” Pete said. “Bob, I think you’ll need a little help for the next few days with your hands bandaged up like that. It doesn’t have to be me, but I do want someone with you, alright?”
“Yes, sir,” Bob said, voice muffled by the oxygen mask.
“I think I’m in the same boat,” Fritz admitted. “I can’t really life my arms.”
“Same,” Halo agreed.
“Okay, I’m going to go talk to Ice about signing out one of the vans so we can fit everyone,” Pete said. “I’ll be right back, but call me if anything changes, okay?”
Mav didn’t have enough room for everyone at his place, so he took them to Ice’s. Fritz and Halo got first pick of the beds in deference to their broken ribs, and the rest of them settled up sleeping positions based on their injuries. The rest of the team was released from the hospital the next day, and Pete brought them back to Ice’s too.
For two days, the Daggers lounged around on the couches and air mattresses, watching reality television and B movies and reruns of old crime procedurals. Ice and Mav insisted on cooking for them, and they served up more pancakes and chili and pizza and French toast than any of them had ever seen outside of a commercial kitchen. They started with playing board games, and then Bradley had Mav pick up his Switch so they could add Animal Crossing and Mario Kart to the rotation. Bob’s hands were still bandaged, so Jake washed his hair in the sink for him one night, carefully scrubbing away the remaining smoke smell with Ice’s lemongrass scented shampoo.
After two days, they started to trickle out in small groups, promising to look after each other and call if they didn’t feel well. Bob, Phoenix, Jake, and Bradley were the last to leave. None of them had a car at Ice’s house, so Maverick drove them back to their on-base housing. He deemed that Bob got dibs on the front seat as he was the only passenger currently being considered for a Navy and Marine Corps Medal, and the other three squeezed into the backseat.
“Hey, Bob,” Pete said once they’d parked and the three in the backseat were piling out of the car, “you know we’re all real proud of you, right?”
“Thanks, Mav,” Bob said with a shy smile, blushing all the way up to his ears.
“And you know we love you, right? Even when you’re not being Super Bob and pulling everyone out of a fire?”
Bob glanced out the window at Natasha, Jake, and Bradley, who were bickering over who would be staying with whom to look after each other while they were healing up. Natasha had her hands planted on her hips in a way Bob knew meant that she would win the argument.
“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”