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The bar was crowded by the time they arrived. Pilots, locals, and a handful of spring breakers making a racket around the bar, the tables, and the booths. There is a very familiar blonde racking up on the centre table. She marches forward, trusting Payback and Fanboy to follow. This is her home turf, after all; none of the deployments, or any of Pops’ promotions could erase Miramar from her bones. He spots her before she reached him, shouts across the bar “If it ain’t Phoenix!” Javy catches the pool que as he opens his arms and they slam into each other. His arms wrap around her shoulders and hers constrict around his waist. He got his height from Pops, she got hers from Ma. He’s never stopped being smug.
She goes up on her toes to nose at his scent glands and he digs his face into her neck. Neither can smell anything, not past the industrial strength patches they all wear, but that doesn’t matter. This is Jake, her brother, her twin, her home.
They’ll have to go back to the house tonight and see if they can annoy Pops into telling them how they managed to swing this assignment together. God she’s missed him.
Then he opens his mouth.
Arm still around her shoulders he turns back to his friend and says “And here I thought we were special, Coyote.” He jostles her. “Turns out the invite went out to anyone.” She shoves him, and ducks out from under his arm. God, he still thinks he’s funny.
“Fellas, this here is Hangman. You’re looking at the only naval aviator on active duty with an air-to-air kill.” She’s learned to preface with that. It tends to shut down any comments before they start. Even after he and Rooster pulled their heads out of their asses about each other, people still make comments. Snide little remarks. Hell, his callsign started as a stupid rumour; ‘Jake Seresin is a tease, he leaves all the alphas hanging’. She’d nearly ripped Twizzler’s throat out when she heard that. And its still, somehow, better than the alternative. The pregnancy scare had rattled them all. So she will punch anyone that tries to call her brother ‘Bagman’. Pops would definitely throw his weight around to get her out of trouble for that. Extenuating circumstances.
Jake is faking demure, “Oh, stop.” He’s never been humble a day in his life. The act is annoying.
“Mind you, the other guy was in a museum piece from the Korean War.”
“Cold War.” Coyote corrects, staring her down.
There’s a snort from behind her. “Different wars, same century.” Payback says.
“Not this one.” Fanboy adds.
“Who are your friends?” Coyote is looking suspiciously between her wingmen. If Jake let him she thinks he’d probably step between them. He’s protective like that. It’s good for Jake.
“Payback.”
“Fanboy.” They sound off. They remind her a lot of Uncles Holly and Wolfe. She can see Jake clock the similarity too. Javy relaxes when Jake does.
“This is Coyote.” Jake bumps their shoulders together.
“Who’s he?” she gestures to the most beta-bland looking officer she’s ever seen, perched on a barstool behind her brother looking for all the world like he’s trying his hardest to blend directly into the background. It’s honestly a little adorable. Coke-bottle glasses make his eyes look huge and young, and highlight the softness in his face. ‘Cute as a button’ Aunt Penny would call him, probably already has, there’s no way she hasn’t pointed him out to Ma from where their heads are bent together over the bar.
“Who’s who?” Coyote steps subtly between Jake and the newcomer. “When did you get here?” the unknown officer grimaces.
“Oh, I’ve been here the whole time.”
“The man is a stealth pilot” Jake nudges her, “literally.” She rolls her eyes.
“Weapons Systems Officer, actually”
“With no sense of humour” Jake grumbles, sotto voce. He’ll get no sympathy from her, you’ll never get her to admit when she thinks her twin’s jokes are funny; someone has to put the pins in his ego before his head gets so big he floats away.
Instead she turns back to the officer, “What do they call you?”
“Bob.”
Coyote laughs, “no, your callsign.”
Two rosy spots appear high on his cheeks, doing nothing to diminish the youthful impression. “Uh… Bob” there’s an embarrassed pause, “Bob Floyd.”
If Natasha’s life were a movie, this would be where the editors put the comedy record scratch.
“You’re my new backseater? From Lemoore.” He nods, shy again, in the face of her outburst. Fuck. This mission is shaping up to be a dangerous one, something so important they’d pull both her and Jake onto it, despite knowing full well they’re siblings. And her new WSO is too timid to look her in the eye. She looks again at his ducked head, his fingers twitch nervously around the rim of his cup of sunflower seeds. She takes the pool que Jake holds out to her and sticks it in the guy’s face.
“Nine ball Bob, rack ‘em.” They’ll just have to get used to each other, then. Quickly. And watching how he plays – especially with Jake here – will tell her a lot more a lot faster.
She watches him rack up, and watches him break. She can tell he’s watching her while she lines up her next ball. Jake’s watching too, the corners of his mouth tilt down the way they always have when he’s concentrating. So much so, he doesn’t seem to notice that Bob is sticking unusually close to his side of the table, and his shoulders get tighter whenever Jake strays back over to her. There’s an inkling of a suspicion niggling in the back of her mind. Something that sounds a lot like Ma’s old stories about coming up in the 80’s, and the worried tone in Pops’ voice when he’d tried to convince Jake to keep ‘Kazansky’ on his application to the academy.
Maybe she’s wrong. Maybe, a slightly desperate hope whispers at her, maybe this is all just some big misunderstanding. Maybe their new CO didn’t check their paperwork, maybe they don’t know about her and Jake. Maybe Ma’s just home on leave; Pops did text them both to let them know he’d had to punch out of his super-secret scramjet project they’re not allowed to know anything about. Maybe she’s not about to be sent on an incredibly dangerous mission (that with each additional aviator, each new Topgun winner, is looking more and more like one they’re not coming home from) with an unmated omega in her backseat. An adorable unmated omega that is also afraid of her. Maybe this isn’t a disaster in the making.
Then Jake’s head pops up from where he was chatting with Fanboy, and she knows she’s not that lucky. Like a compass pointing north, her brother swings his whole body to watch his mate, Bradley Bradshaw, saunter through the bar doors.
Bradley was supposed to be in Japan. This is bad.
“Bradshaw!” she yells over the patrons, before Jake can say something embarrassing and way too much info, Jesus Jakey! Ma jumps like he’s been shot and cranes to watch the big oaf lumber towards their table. “This is how I find out you're stateside?”
“Yeah” he has the audacity to shrug, “I just thought I’d surprise you.”
He doubles over when she sinks her que into his stomach. The strangled “hrgnh” he lets out is very satisfying.
“I guess I surprised you back.” And then, because it’s true, “It’s good to see you” she admits.
“Yeah, you too.”
Jake steals Bob’s pool que and drapes himself suggestively over the table, ignoring her glare.
“Bradshaw, as I live and breathe.” He sinks a ball and stands up, still somehow managing to emphasise his ass. She’s going to strangle him.
“Hangman.” It’s a longing sigh. “You look… good.” She’s going to strangle them both.
“Well, I am good Rooster. In fact,” he presses up against his mate, instead of shoving past him, “I’m too good to be true.” And he saunters over to Ma and Aunt Penny to extort more free beers.
“You’re both awful.”
“Aaww, you love us Phee.” His moustache is smug. Bastard.
Jake sticks a bottle in her hand before she can hit him. He offers one to Bob, who shakes his head.
“You want something else? It’s on the old man.” He tilts his head back to Ma. Modelo’s not exactly out-there, but it’s not everyone’s favourite.
“Oh. Uh. I’m not really a drinker?” He cringes away from the proffered bottle. Jake just shrugs and gives the bottle to Fanboy, reclaiming his (stolen) que to line up his next shot. She gives hers to Bradley. The mating dance will happen whether she’s there or not, and she’d rather not get caught in the middle of it, again, thank you very much. She sidles over to her new WSO, who tenses.
“Y’know, Penny keeps a couple kinds of seltzer behind the bar, we could grab you something if you want?” the hitch in his shoulders goes down a fraction. He’s watching the Jake-and-Bradley show very carefully. She slips off the stool and goes to talk to Penny.
Ma has a pint in front of him. She puts her hand overtop before he can take a sip and returns both of their raised eyebrows.“Does Pops know you’re out here, or are you avoiding his lecture on ejection protocol?” Ma looks guilty.
“Pete.” Penny sighs, exasperated. She takes the glass from him and down it herself. “Go home Peter, I won’t have Iceman storming my bar trying to find his wayward mate.”
“Fine.” Ma grumbles, but he starts searching through pockets for his card.
“What can I get you sweetheart?” Aunt Penny is the only person alive who is still allowed to call her that in public. Ma and Pops have long since stopped asking her why, and just accepted it as a fact of their relationship.
“My new WSO doesn’t drink.” Ma’s head snaps up again, scanning over the increasingly rowdy group by the pool tables. “You got anything back there for him?”
“Sure honey.” Penny goes over to the fridge at the other end of the bar.
She rounds on her mother. “You know what this is about, don’t you?”
“Yeah. It’s.” Ma looks tired. And somehow older than last time Nat saw him. Given the fact that last time they were all together, Pops had only just been declared cancer-free, it’s worrying. “You’ll all find out tomorrow.” Penny returns with Ma’s credit card, and a can of Spindrift for her. “I’ll see you all at home, okay Tashy?”
“Okay, Ma. We’ll see you at home, I’ll try and get the boys out earlier.”
He presses a “Thanks, baby.” Into her hair and he’s gone. The roar of his bike drowned out by everyone in the bar yelling at her stupid brother-in-law, who just unplugged the Jukebox.
She holds the can out to Bob, who blinks up at her with huge disbelieving eyes. It’s just a can of seltzer.
“Come on, this’ll be fun.” She gets a posse over to the piano in time for the opening bars of Uncle Goose’s favourite song.
Bradley sings “Kiss me baby,” Jake leans over and plants one on him, everyone jeers. They’re all jumping around and singing along. Jake catches her eye, they shout the chorus in each other’s faces. She loves this song, every time he plays it she feels like they’re all kids again, jumping around the room while Ma and Aunt Carole bang around on the keys.
“Any requests?” He shouts, and the bar immediately fills with voices yelling suggestions from Elton John, to Amy Winehouse, to Madonna. He picks Kelly Clarkson, because Bradley Bradshaw is nothing if not contrary. She and Bob claim seats right behind the bench while they finish their drinks. It’s peaceful, as much as it can be in the middle of a rowdy bar, but at least she’s gotten Bob to relax around her. She’ll take the win.
At the next break in songs she stands up and catches their performer by the shoulder.
“I think it’s about time to head in.” She squeezes to styme any protest. “You’ve got to be dead on your feet, Rooster, jet lag’s a hell of a thing all the way from Japan. Come on, I’ll drive.”
He snorts at her, “Not my car you won’t.”
She looks around, trying to make eye contact with as many aviators as she can. “Anyone else need a lift?” there are murmurs of ascent. Jake catches her eye again. He slings an arm around the other omega’s shoulder.
“Sure, Bobby and I’ll ride with you. You don’t mind, do ya Jav?”
“Sure man” his friend laughs, “Just get your crap out of my car before you slink away to your off-base lovenest.”
“You’re a gem. Come on Fritz, the train is leavin’!” the last part is shouted back into the bar, where Billy is plugging the Jukebox back in. They all troop outside.
They stop between their cars so Coyote can throw Hangman’s seabag at him.
“You got O Rooms Bob?” Jake asks when they’re all loaded into the Bronco. In the rear-view, Nat can see him nod hesitantly.
“Yeah. I, uh – ”
Jake cuts him off. “Cool. We’ll drop you there first then.” There’s a beat of awkward silence. Bradley breaks it.
“We’re all off-base, Bob, don’t worry about it, you’re on our way. I’m guessing none of the others would be out there, so you might as well ride with us.”
“Oh! You’re… ”
“Yeah, we’ve got family ‘round here.” Jake gestures to her and Bradley in the front seats. Well, they are his family, and they are in the area. But no one has to know that. Just like they don’t need to know that all three of them will be staying at the same place; with Ma and Pops, at the house in La Jolla. The thought of her own bed, in her own den, is a siren song calling her home.
They pull up to the little complex that has served as the unmated-omega housing for NAS Miramar since the Clinton administration. It’s showing its age.
“Here we are!” Bradley pulls into a parking space in the miniscule lot. “Home sweet home, for the next three weeks.”
“Thanks Rooster, really.” He glances around the car. “I’ll, I guess I’ll see you all tomorrow.” He opens the door.
“Sure thing, Bob, let me know if you need a ride in.”
“Oh, uh, that, that’s okay. Thank you though.” He gets out and closes the door behind him. He’s halfway to the door when Natasha gives into the compulsion to roll down the window and lean out.
“Hey Bob!” he turns, “We’ll kick their asses!” He flashes a grin into the Bronco’s headlights.
By silent agreement, they stay put while he walks into the building, waiting until the door locks behind him with an electronic ca-chunk, to finally reverse out of the spot and head towards home.
“This is bad, isn’t it.” Jake’s question from the backseat is the last thing any of them say. They all know it is. Highway lights skid past in tense, silent, contemplation.
There’s a warm glow coming from the windows when they finally pull into the driveway. The lights are all on inside. Ma and Pops are on the couch, waiting for them. She’s missed them both so much. Pops is warm, and solid again, strong enough to squeeze her tight, and big enough that she can’t feel his ribs anymore. She could cry from relief. It feels like, no matter what happens tomorrow, everything will be all right, Pops can take care of it.