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Sweat slides down the back of Izaiah's neck, sticking the already damp collar to his skin. It collects at the base of his spine, the backs of his thighs and small washes of cool air itch his stomach each time he breathes. The air's close, humid enough to make his lungs work for it. Not the hottest, or the most uncomfortable he's been though. No, that award has, and always will, go to the bottom bunk of the 6-man berth beside the engine room Izaiah had hot racked on his first deployment. The surface of the sun would have been several degrees colder than that cursed fucking room. Not quieter though.
A burst of raucous laughter erupts around the table, hoots and jeers mixing into the cacophony of a joke he's missed. Izaiah chuckles anyway, even as his eyes try their best to cement themselves together. Fuck, he's exhausted. It takes a few blinks for them to focus again and when they do, he realises that he's been staring into the corner, directly at the only two other patrons in the bar.
Both men, one with slicked back grey hair and glasses; the other with darker, fluffier hair, greying at the temples. There's something familiar about their faces. Something that tugs at the back of his mind. He'd probably have more of a chance if he wasn't well on his way to alcohol induced oblivion. Him and everyone else at the table. It's a Tuesday afternoon, not a typical day for drinking but fuck it. They'd shored up this morning with no duties until Thursday.
He's still staring, he registers vaguely. It's definitely getting weird. The dark haired man says something to his friend, mouth turned towards the table. Not that lip reading is one of Izaiah's gifts anyway. His friend smiles, or, his mouth twitches and then he's making eye contact with Izaiah. Yeah, he needs to stop staring. Like right now.
They probably outrank him, probably outrank the whole group. Brass always has this air about them, cocksure arrogance and ego. The pair in the corner have gravity too. He wouldn't be surprised if there're multiple stars on both their shoulders. But, they've been here at least half the time Izaiah and his group have been and haven't once seemed bothered by the noise, or frankly filthy stories Bell and Lemmings have been spinning. If the pair haven't complained yet, they probably won't. Hopefully won't. The dark haired one looks up at Izaiah with a grin then makes eye contact the whole time he takes a drink. His friend rolls his eyes. Holy shit, Izaiah needs to stop staring. Why do they look so familiar?
Izaiah catches movement out the corner of his eye, but he's too drunk, too slow to stop the inevitable. Barkowitz reaches across the table for a wedge of collected cash. Her elbow catches the two-thirds full pint on the way back. Izaiah flings himself backwards. He gets a lapful of warm beer that seeps straight through his clothes and dribbles into his pack for the effort. A deafening cheer goes up. Barkowitz laughs, unrepentant and fucks off to the bar. At least she throws towels at him.
Multiple hands press into his skin and even more mop up the spill on the floor. There's nothing quite like teamspirit - even when it comes with a side of what some may consider verbal abuse. Izaiah takes it on the chin, laughing and batting away hands. It doesn't really matter, the whole outfit is going to have to go in the wash anyway and at this point, any form of cooling is welcome even if when it dries, he'll be even stickier than he was before. Oh shit, hopefully he doesn't run into anyone on the stumble back to his apartment - he's going to smell like a brewery. He'll fucking murder Barkowitz if he gets written up for this.
Yeah. Probably better to dip sooner rather than later. Okay. Time to wrap this shitshow up.
"I have a story ain't none o' y'all will be able to top." Izaiah drawls, cutting straight over the end of Reindeer's story. Unfortunately named because his surname is Dasher. He's a good man, a great man but engaging storytelling is not one of his strengths. Poor fucker could probably dry paint, if he really put his mind to it.
Izaiah cringes a little, he must be walking on more of a slant than he'd thought if his accent's that strong. Oh well, too late now. Several eyes swivel, attention already shifting and diverting.
Bell's smile turns sharp at the edges as he leans forward on his elbows. A dangerous game on this table with all the spare glass. "A story y'say? Why go on then, Belle. Blow us away." He sneers, exaggerated and only a little mean.
Reindeer has the good sense to clip Bell over the back of his head as Izaiah rolls his eyes hard enough they almost exit the back of his skull and flips him off. It's not anything he hasn't heard before. Southern Belle, Southern Beauty, Smokeshow, Cowboy, ect. - the list is fairly endless where Bell is concerned, especially when he gets going. Barkowitz just laughs because it's the only noise she's been capable making for the last hour.
"Alright. Well, before I start, this is-"
"Classified!" The shout goes round the table. A shot is pushed into Izaiah's hand, he bangs the bottom on the table before throwing it back in one and slamming the glass upside down. It burns the whole way down, foul and definitely not vodka or tequila. Izaiah chokes which only forces the fumes up the back of his nostrils. His eyes water and he has to slap a hand over his mouth to suppress the gag.
"What the fuck was that?" He gasps, desperately trying to blink tears out his eyes. He reaches blindly for another drink, washing the cesspit-like aftertaste from his mouth with lukewarm, half-flat beer. He doesn't even know whose drink it is.
Barkowitz and Leav are laughing so hard they're bent double, apparently unaffected by whatever the fuck they'd forced down everyone's necks. At least Izaiah wasn't the only one caught off guard, it took Lemmings by such surprise he's coughing hard enough to retch and Bell isn't far behind him, blowing his nose on an already used napkin.
"Was that goddamn Jäger?" Reindeer asks, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.
"Jäger? It's three in the afternoon!" Lemmings yells, rasping and clearing his throat.
Leav cackles harder, "You should see your faces. Oh my god, hold me." She curls in on herself like a pillbug, weight dangerously close to the edge of the chair. It's fine. Barkowitz will catch her. Probably. Izaiah ain't doing it, either way.
"You tryn'a fucking kill us? What is wrong with you?" Bell asks, nasally and wincing slightly.
"Never -" Barkowitz tries to say, tears dripping off her chin, "Never gonna live that down -"
"Okay!" Izaiah projects, trying to regain control. The first licks of nausea are sitting in his sternum, the Jäger already upsetting the carefully layered diet of eggs, cheese, beer and vodka. "Can I get all'n yourn's focus for one goddamn minute so we can all go the fuck home?"
Barkowitz engages actual breathing exercises in an attempt to stop laughing. It's only semi-successful. Izaiah's eyes land on the corner again, for a moment. The dark haired man has his head thrown back, openly laughing. The grey haired one is pointedly not looking in their direction, though his shoulders are shaking. Well, at least they're entertained.
"Okay, okay. You can continue," Barkowitz says, waving a lordly hand as if she's not the reason they're all suffering. There's still minor spluttering, nose blowing and throat clearing going on. Whatever.
"Right, get this," Izaiah leans forward, resting his elbows on the table.
"This isn't going to get us martialled is it?" Bell cuts in, eyebrow raised.
Izaiah sighs in frustration, gritting his teeth. "No, asshole. Can you shut up for once in your life?" It had been unclassified 6 months ago. He thinks. He possibly should have had a short piss break just to make sure. It'll be fine.
Bell just grins, eyes sparkling. He loves to get under Izaiah's skin like nothing else. He grins like it's a victory. He opens his mouth but Izaiah rolls straight over him, looking anywhere else. "This fucking aviator, who had been flying since the 80s-"
"No fucking way-" Reindeer mutters, head tilting.
"Yeah - I know, right? Like, how did he still have his wings?" Izaiah agrees, smiling. The dark haired man has swung round to face their table, his friend watching them like a hawk. Possibly this isn't the brightest idea Izaiah's ever had. Oh well.
Leav sniffs the air, and announces, "I call bull."
Izaiah turns to her, "I promise. I am not fucking with you, this is a true story. Hand to God. And, it's not even the most important part of this thing."
"You sure?" Lemmings interjects, sceptical, but what isn't he?
It gets under Izaiah's skin in a way that it doesn't with Bell, not really. "Yeah, I was there, asshole." He bites out.
"That's twice in two minutes." Bell chuckles, flashing his teeth.
Izaiah rolls his eyes, "Anyway, this squadron turned up right out the blue -" Barkowitz and Leav wince in sympathy and Reindeer pulls air in through his teeth. Izaiah agrees, "Yeah, yeah, no. It was terrifying."
"You never want to be the ones doing something different," Lemmings says as if this is revolutionary news to anyone at the table. Maybe whatever hinked out thought antenna he has in his head has managed to pick up a signal for once.
Izaiah ignores him because obviously. He takes a breath, "So this squad turns up and we float their asses out to the middle of god damn nowhere. Nowhere, like real nowhere. Felt like a thousand miles of ocean between us and land on all sides. It's awkward as all hell too, twelve aviators and a Captain all at a loose end. Not part of the crew, not there long enough to warrant getting to know. Nobody knew what to do with them."
"We had that once," Leav puts in, "Only it was a pit stop on the way back to home base. I have no idea what they'd done to deserve the long way round. Half of them were going spare by the time we shored, apart from this one aviator, a WSO with these old wire frames. He was chill."
"Bob? Are you on about Bob?" Bell asks, turning to Leav. Izaiah forgets regularly that they've served together before.
"That's his name!" She yells, throwing her hands in the air. "Yeah. Real quite, polite. Wouldn't say boo to a goose."
Bell laughs, "He was the whole reason they were with us."
"No!"
"Yeah! Apparently his pilot didn't like that Bob went to TOPGUN and won without him. First flight back, pilot refused to listen to Bob - almost got his whole wing killed. Rumour is Bob never screamed so loud when they touched down, shit got so bad the pilot had to be hauled away by three groundcrew. Bob refused to fly with him again, lines were drawn and teams were picked. Whole squad got sent with us to chill out before they deployed again."
"Well fuck me, didn't know that. Good on Bob." Leav looks a little stunned.
"Imagine having nothing to do for days on end, must be weird. Not like there's much downtime on deploy usually." Reindeer speculates, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. "What happened next?"
"Well, luckily for this squad, they did have a mission." Izaiah says, getting them back on track. "This Captain, the one who'd been flying thirty-odd, chooses his team the day before. Two singles, two doubles - he's in one of the singles."
"The day before?" Barkowitz asks with not insignificant incredulity.
"SNAFU." Lemmings puts in.
"SNAFU." Bell replies, clinking their drinks together.
"Fuck that noise." Leav grumbles.
Izaiah laughs, "Yeah, yeah. The day before, could you imagine?" Izaiah shakes his head, it's hard to know whether it would be better or worse to be chosen, or left behind, after so long. A part of him has always wondered just how long they trained for it. "Yeah - he chooses his team and then the morning of the rest of us get the brief -" He leans in, "turns out it was a suicide fly. Oh yeah, you bet your asses I felt bad about ignoring them."
Reindeer winces and through the alcohol glaze, Izaiah distantly remembers that he's been on SAR for similar missions before. Izaiah stretches out a leg, tapping his boot against Reindeer's calf then letting it rest there. Reindeer presses back for a moment, Izaiah opens his mouth to apologise -
"Did you fuck any of them?" Lemmings grins, "Doesn't count as shitting where you eat if they're dead."
Every head at the table turns to him. For once, the group does not vary much in expression. Lemmings, the smarmy cretin, leans back in his chair, oblivious. It must be nice, Izaiah thinks, to be that stupid. A brain eating amoeba would be a kindness at this point.
"You really are a waste of oxygen." Reindeer says, eerily calm.
Lemmings jerks forward, somehow shocked, "What?"
"You want to try that one again?" It's a tone that Izaiah has never heard from Reindeer before, the man is unshakeable to the extreme, as placid as a frozen lake. Lemmings, having at least the instincts of a prey animal, does not say anything.
Izaiah briefly meets the wide eye gaze of Barkowitz before he flicks his eyes to the corner. The two men are still watching them closely, faces blank.
"Anyway," He pushes out, and just like that, the tension evaporates. Who the hell knew this was going to be so fraught? He just wants to go the fuck home. Izaiah forces his face into some approximation of a smile, "There was no real chance of victory, yada, yada, you know how it goes. They manage to do it, mainly by the grace of God-"
"How are you skipping the good parts?" Barkowitz asks, rolling her eyes.
Izaiah smirks, revelling for a moment. "'Cause, them doing the mission successfully is somehow not the most important part of this story." That catches their attention.
"Bullshit-"
"-I don't believe you-"
"-what is?"
Izaiah's scrubbing the details, letting them wash away under alcohol and atmosphere. At the end of this the others won't be able to retell it and he'll have the exquisite privilege of not paying for another drink while on leave. Apart from Bell, perhaps, whose eyes are a little sharper than they should be and whose head has held that small, calculating tilt of an unsolved puzzle. Izaiah winks and turns to the rest of the table.
Hook.
"Look me in my eyes, I am not fucking with you." He brings his hands up, positioning them for demonstration. "The aviators pull 10gs out this crater, somehow none of them hit the mountain. Then there's over forty SAM sites waiting for them on the other side."
"They dodge, radio's a mess. Nobody can tell ass from elbow but they just keep going but so do the SAMs. The Captain goes down protecting his wingman who'd ran out of flares. First missile explodes in the Captain's chaff, the second hits his jet instead of the Lieutenant. Goes down in a storm of flames, no chute, no nothing. Everyone thinks he's dead. Right?"
"How the hell can anyone survive that?" Leav asks, shaking her head. Bell slaps a hand over Lemmings mouth before he can piss everyone off again.
"They can't." Barkowitz replies, pressing her tongue into her cheek. Reindeer turns away, taking a long draft.
The dark haired one in the corner is looking at his friend, saying something indecipherable. His friend doesn't appear to be listening, face a blank mask. Neither of them have stopped Izaiah though, so it's probably fine.
He cuts over the chattering, "The Lieutenant that the Captain's just saved, turns his dumbass around and goes searching for him. Ups and leaves both doubles on his own, against COMPACFLT orders too -" There are several exclamations at that. "Oh yeah, shit, forgot to mention that. Fucking Admiral Kazansky was onboard. I cannot tell you how stressful that was. All I could think was 'please don't sink, please don't catch fire, please don't start World War Three' for two fucking weeks. There was enough brass tacks to hang a gallery on this carrier. Couldn't breathe without hitting one. Not enough room to swing a cat. Most stressed I've been in my entire life, including SERE."
Bell laughs at that. It's not unkind. Melodic, rueful maybe. Holy fuck is Izaiah three sheets to the wind. Oh well. He takes a drink and doesn't break eye contact.
"Brass has that habit, they congregate like pigeons to scraps. Where one goes, a whole fleet goes with them." Leav sighs, unsurprising since their last Captain hated her and Barkowitz for being women. They'd been written up a half-dozen times for meaningless crap nobody else would blink at. It's been a very long deployment. Izaiah can only imagine what it's been like for them.
Bell valiantly comes to the defence of a man who certainly doesn't need it. "I heard Admiral Kazansky was good though, tough but fair. Wicked sense of humour if you got him in a good mood."
"Well, weren't no good mood in sight and it only got worse." Izaiah continues, "This Lieutenant also goes down 'cause he ain't got shit all left. There's bandits - fifth gens - in the air. Can't send SAR, firmly on enemy soil - no hope of survival."
"Fifth? Against what? Wait - the Lieutenant knew and left is wingmen anyway?" Barkowitz asks, knocking over a second glass, thankfully empty this time as she rights herself on her chair.
Line.
Izaiah shrugs one shoulder, "Luckily, the bandits turned tail when the doubles hit international waters. They land and we wait... it had to be something like eight hours. This poor fucking spare aviator was in his cockpit the entire time, just waiting to be sent with SAR."
Reindeer cocks his head, "You weren't on the team?"
"Nah, wasn't on duty. Was ready to go though, got real close to changeover." Reindeer makes a noise of understanding. Changeover is one of the worst times, not knowing if you're going or not - when on duty, having been on alert for hours on end and when not, trying to prep to go without burning out too fast. It's a weird grey-area of time, deeply unpleasant for all involved.
"Not good enough, Moore?" Lemmings pipes up, only to be kicked violently by Leav. He smashes his knee into the table and for one dangerous moment everything rocks and clinks against one another. Bell catches a stray glass that falls, before it hits the floor. Barkowitz laughs, high-fiving the other woman.
Izaiah slaps a hand down on the table. "Focus up. This is the crazy bit. Yeah, only now." He grins as people lean in, "All of a sudden, the spare LT on deck kicks his squadmate out the cockpit, slams the canopy and hightails it out of there like his ass is on fire. Turns out, turns out, that the Lieutenant that went down was supersonic."
"How-"
"Nobody could work it out, we'd taken the airfield out that morning. Runways included. Then, it turns out that he's supersonic in a decommissioned enemy F-14 that's probably older than he is. Ain't no way on God's green earth he's flying that bag of ass. Who's flying then, you ask-"
"No fucking way." Bell slaps a hand down and leans all the way in. "No, there's no way."
Izaiah grins like the cat that got the canary. "That's right. The fucking Captain."
There's a chorus of holy fuck's and no's and what's around the table. Izaiah laughs, it would be pretty unbelievable to hear, it was unbelievable to witness. He's got them all now, hook, line and sinker. His attention snags for a moment on the pair in the corner, the dark haired man is grinning, laughing at something. The grey haired one looks resigned, maybe a little constipated. Christ, they look familiar. Why does Izaiah feel like he should know them?
"No. No! What the fuck? Where did he take off from?! What is happening? No. No! I'm out, I'm done. This is insane. Insane!" Barkowitz yells, holding onto Izaiah's shoulder so hard he almost topples sideways and she throws her weight trying to spin him to face her.
"You win." Bell smiles, saluting Izaiah with his pint. Reindeer tips his too and finishes it in one mouthful, Leav is just shaking her head.
He laughs, unable to stop it. "Oh, we're still not at the insane part," He's momentarily drowned out in another wave of noise. "I said crazy, not insane!"
Lemmings looks like he's swallowed a particularly sour lime. "How is there more to this story?"
"So, not only has the Captain and the Lieutenant survived, but thrived, apparently. There's still bandits in the air - two, or so we thought and our guys only have two missiles, a handful of rounds and half a cache of flares. Against fifth gens. Mhm. Yep." He says to their stunned faces.
"There's no way to survive that." Reindeer murmurs, and if anyone at this table knows, it would be him.
Bell squints for a second, "Mmm, wouldn't judge too fast. That seems to be the theme here." He lifts his chin in indication to continue.
"This Captain swerves, takes one bandit out with the other's missile then dives like he belongs in the earth. It confuses the bandit's systems because God has favourites, somehow this plan works - the second bandit goes down. -"
Leav scoffs into her drink, "Luckiest bastard in the world."
" - poor Lieutenant who spent all that time waiting ain't had shit to do. Hell, just keep sending this Captain, nothing's ever going wrong again. Fuck knows what's gonna happen when he pegs it, or they rip him. Whole Navy's gonna collapse." Izaiah does wonder about that on a semi-regular basis. Passing thoughts when he's half out the helo or watching new hotshots rough land like it's their first time in the cockpit. Just what are they going to do when Maverick dies, or is forced into retirement? Because there's more likely to be snow in August than him voluntarily stepping out the cockpit. A system isn't meant to be built on only a handful of people, doesn't mean it isn't anyway. He'd been flying forty years when they did that mission - longer than anyone else ever has, or probably ever will - and that was a few years in the rear-view now too.
Izaiah had kept an eye out and an ear to the ground for news on the Captain but he'd vanished into the wind as fast as he'd appeared. Someone like him was classified to the ends of the earth and back - there's no way to ever truly keep up with people like Maverick and it's a solid toss-up between the Navy quietly shuffling him out the system or holding the greatest retirement celebration they'd ever known. If he is gone, Izaiah hopes it's happily and with grace. Someone needs to hold vigil for the memory of an aviator more myth than man and if that's spinning stories like redacted legend then that's what it is.
His gaze flicks back to the pair in the corner. They're both goddamn magnetic, Izaiah couldn't help it if he tried. The dark haired man lifts his glass to Izaiah with a wink. He really kind of looks like Maverick, but why the hell would a man like that be in a shitty base bar mid-afternoon? Izaiah's probably just attributing similarities where there are none.
"Anyway," He says, cutting over the chatter. It's time to wrap this up. "They're out of the woods, or so you'd think. Only no. There's a third on their nose. They've got nothing left , craft is falling apart around their ears, frame's bent to hell. That's it. They're done, and in sight of home too."
Reindeer winces again, looking away. Izaiah takes a breath, "Captain climbs, screaming for his Lieutenant to eject - only the handles don't work. Seized up. Done. Nothing they can do. Sitting ducks below safe eject, no airspeed, pointed toward Heaven and ain't shit else they can do."
"What about the spare?" Leav asks, "He's got to do something, he's launched, right?"
"Oh you bet your ass this is when Lieutenant Two comes into play." Izaiah holds his hands up in demonstration again. "Bandit fires their missile, Lieutenant fires his, hits the bandit square on. Blows him, and his missile up."
"Holy fuck, that has got to feel like the best missile he'll ever send." Barkowitz says, in more than a little awe.
Lemmings finally pipes back up. "That has to be the end of the story." He buries his face in his hand, "Please tell me it's the end."
Izaiah just grins and there's a couple of groans. "The engine on the 14 blows just as they come into land, though that's probably because they buzzed the tower waiting for the barricade to be raised. No landing gear, no tail hook, one engine."
"I retract my earlier statement. I don't know if this is the luckiest or unluckiest aviator in history." Leav says, holding her hands up in mock surrender.
"He lands it, yeah?" Reindeer asks.
"Could you fucking imagine if he crashes at the last moment? After all that?" Barkowitz shudders at the thought. Not after everything they'd been through.
"Yes. This man lands it like it's a regular god damn occurrence. Gets out. Massive celebrations, decorum goes out the window. Everyone's hugging and laughing like the Prodigal Son and his son have returned home. The COMPACFLT -"
Barkowitz slaps out a hand, "Oh shit, I forgot about Admiral Kazansky."
Izaiah snorts, "The COMPACFLT was livid, livid I tell you. Ain't never heard no brass shout like that in public before. Madder'n a wet hen, he was. Was about to dress this Captain down and maybe further than that when the Captain just straight collapses," There's another chorus of disbelief. "Turns out he's been fucking shot. So not only has he done the impossible, but he's done it while bleeding out with shrapnel in his belly."
"How in the hell did anyone survive that?" Reindeer asks, wiping his mouth and shaking his head.
"There's hysterical strength and then there's whatever this Captain was on." Leav agrees, which is saying a lot from her.
Bell smiles ruefully, "I don't even think I'd want to be in the backseat for that."
Izaiah's openly laughing now, a little high on the residual adrenaline and cortisol, even all these years later. "Wildest day of my life," he says, "seemed like a regular Tuesday to that crazy fucker. Our personal Chuck Norris. I wouldn't want to get on his bad side - could you imagine? True story - swear on my next shore leave. True. Story."
There's a moment of general chatter, overlapping into more of a wall of sound than waves. Izaiah blinks, world spinning. Holy hell is he hot, tired, drunk and possibly verging on nauseous. He looks up, trying to catch Bell's eye since they're in the same block when a hand comes down on his shoulder.
The table falls silent for a beat before there's scraping chairs and scrabbling feet as everyone tries to snap to. Izaiah can't even see who it is but he moves anyway. Only he's uncoordinated and in the mad dash he's kicked more than once. He manages to get half a foot under himself but then his boot slips in the spilt beer from earlier and he crashes the couple inches back down. The hand tightens, keeping him from bashing his tail-bone to dust.
There's a warm laugh from behind him, a couple overlaying one another. Someone rasps an 'at ease'. Izaiah twists -
Oh.
Oh fuck.
It's the man from the corner only now Izaiah can clearly see his face and it's not a face he will ever forget. Maverick beams down at him. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. He's so sweaty. He's not sweaty. Oh my god, he's sweating on Maverick. Is he even sweating? Does he even have a body? Holy shit - The floor drops away from Izaiah and the sound he makes is not a dignified one. Barkowitz starts laughing into her fist in a poor attempt to conceal it. They are so fucked.
Maverick's eyes flick across everyone and just laughs again. Slapping the hand on Izaiah's shoulder enough to jostle him. "Chuck Norris, huh? Well, I can do worse than that."
"Oh god, don't encourage him." A man says behind Maverick with a smirk. If Izaiah was on the verge of blind panic before, he's plunging off the edge now because that's fucking Rooster and as long as Izaiah lives, he will never forget that man's face as he slid down the F-14.
He's staring. He knows he's staring but gun to his head, Izaiah could not tell you what his face was doing. Is his face still there? He hasn't been able to feel it in hours. Whatever it's doing while staring at that unforgettable, awful moustache that really shouldn't work but somehow does, is enough to get Rooster to raise an eyebrow and his wingman to angle his body closer, deeply unimpressed. It's Hangman. Because of course it is. Why wouldn't this be getting steadily worse? Izaiah's not even sure if anything's registering properly anymore.
"I require the name of your Captain. I will not tolerate poor conduct." The grey haired man rasps which in the light of day is actually Admiral Kazansky and if Izaiah should have recognised anyone it really should have been the fucking COMPACFLT. Izaiah wracks his brain, trying to remember what he'd said about the man and if he's about to be discharged. He cannot summon a single word on the subject and instead ends up staring into his impassive face while he's clearly waiting for an answer instead.
"S-sir." Izaiah manages, weak to his own ears.
Barkowitz guffaws and is kicked for it, though the table's shaking enough that there's at least one other who can't stop laughing. At least someone is getting some amusement out of the cruel and unusual punishment. Izaiah can't even be angry, he would be in the same position if it was someone else. Though he can't really feel much of anything at the moment, so that is also helping matters. He can't feel his hands. Are they still attached to his body? Has the world always been spinning this fast? Has he ever mentioned that it's really fucking humid in here?
"Breathe, kid. He means for the sexism, you're fine." Maverick murmurs before turning around. "Ice, stop scaring the hell out of them."
Ice, because Maverick refers to Commander of the Pacific Fleet, Admiral Kazansky as Ice and gets away with it, rolls his eyes and there's also possibly the shadow of a smile there too. "Let's go, Captain." He rasps and prods the other two aviators ahead of him out the bar door.
"Holy shit!" Lemmings yells as it finally occurs to him that Izaiah has not, in fact, been lying this whole time.
Maverick gives one last grin and heads for the door with a, "Hope you get your free drinks!" thrown over his shoulder.
Barkowitz has moved beyond the capability for sound, slowly slipping off her chair. Leav has a good enough grip to slow the descent though probably not for long since she's also silently laughing enough to cry. Even Reindeer is actively box breathing to contain himself. Reindeer is a good man like that.
Izaiah lays his head down on the table with far more care than he wants to and bangs his forehead repeatedly. He doesn't know if he'll ever be able to get over this. He's is never going to participate in this stupid game again, it's not worth it. Maybe he'll be the new cautionary tale. It might be nicer to become a shepherd in Sweden. They do have shepherds there, right?
There's firm hands on his shoulders, pulling him upright again. The hand hooks around his armpit, pulling him to his feet. "Okay, Izaiah. Time to get you home." Bell murmurs. Izaiah likes the sound of his name in Bell's mouth, he thinks. Or maybe it's the promise of bed.
He nods either way and they make it into slow, staggering stumble back to their block, Bell chattering the entire time. They do not see anyone else on the walk back.