Archive of Our Own

Days off spent with your gorgeous new husband were, in theory, supposed to be peaceful - perhaps filled with good food and lazy sex interspersed with cozy cuddling and naps on the couch.

Or they could have gone to the beach; it was a beautiful spring day and though it was a little too chilly for swimming still, dozing in the sun and rubbing sunscreen on Jake's back were always great ways to pass the time.

Or could have gone hiking up in the mountains, or drove up the coast for ice cream, or lazily perused the Farmer's Market, or cooked steaks on Ice's zillion dollar grill that he hardly ever used.

Anything, literally anything besides this.

Bradley huffed a curse under his breath and scrubbed at the grout in their shower. He reached up and swiped at the sweat on his brow and mumbled another one. The shower tiles were in need of a good cleaning, but it wasn't something high up on his list of to-do's on the first day of their mandatory vacation. The mandatory week vacation they'd fought like hell to schedule together.

It wasn't on the list at all, actually.

"Damn fucking fuck," he huffed again, and attacked the build-up with more Scrubbing Bubbles and the worn out brush Jake had thrust into his hands earlier.

Jake had apparently woken that morning long before the sun with the frenetic energy he sometimes got when things weren't exactly how they were supposed to be in the house.

Bradley had been startled out of a deep sleep by metallic clanking and clattering downstairs, and had scrambled out of their bedroom long after his husband's side of the bed had grown cold.

He'd been expecting something sweet for breakfast. Or at least coffee.

What he'd found was his sweetheart's perfect, flannel-covered ass on full display when he stumbled into the kitchen, still yawning and bleary-eyed, and the sight of it stopped him dead in his tracks. It honestly wasn't a horrible sight to wake up to, but his still mostly-asleep brain just couldn't comprehend the peculiar angle for a second.

Jake was on his knees under the farmhouse sink, his entire upper body fully submerged within the bowels of the cabinets they kept the pots and pans in. The pots and pans were no longer in the cabinet, but strewn across the floor around Jake's bare feet.

"Honey?" He'd asked cautiously, "Whatcha doin'?"

Jake jumped, and banged something against something else down there - Bradley heard a dull thump and then a muted "ow, fuck shit" from inside the cabinet.

Jake pulled himself out of the cabinet, rubbing his elbow with a rubber kitchen glove as he did. He heaved himself up to face him, hair wild, eyes wild, and then full-body gesticulated toward the sink.

"I saw a bug," he blurted and pointed a gloved hand toward the sink, eyes burning with something that would have probably scared anyone else. But Bradley was hardly ever fazed by Jake's intensity anymore.

Mostly.

"I think it was a fuckin' roach. It was a big-ass bug, Bradley, I can not." He bounced with barely contained consternation where he stood, and Bradley had to carefully control his face so his expression didn't accidentally start a fight.

Because Bradley had almost cooed at the sight of his sleep-rumpled, adorably disheveled husband standing in their kitchen in his pajamas and huge yellow rubber gloves, freaking out over a bug. Bradley wondered how he'd slept through the shriek, because he knew with almost certainty that Jake had screamed like a little girl when he'd come down that morning to see a bug scurrying across the counter.

He'd seen Jake, rocking it as a paramedic these days, covered in blood spatter and brain matter and not bat an eye. He'd seen him get puked on multiple times and it never fazed him. He'd faced down junkies with sharp objects and felons with guns with steel in his eyes and a dangerous smirk on his lips. He'd hung upside down from a rope over a bridge while securing an injured motorist inside a wrecked car.

Jake was not only brave, he was fearless.

…For the most part.

It was bugs. And, to a lesser extent birds, but he could at least tolerate those outside where they were supposed to be. And he didn't really like thunderstorms either, he'd get nervous and tuck himself into Bradley's side and shake miserably during storms with high winds or strong thunder.

Truth be told, Bradley wasn't really fond of storms, either.

It was specifically roaches, but really bugs of any kind that his brave, beloved Jake drew a hard, non-negotiable line. He'd had a patient with an unfortunate case of botflies a while back, and Javy had said through fits of giggling that Jake had retched and gagged the entire time Javy tweezed the wiggling larvae out of the wounds on the woman's shoulders. One only had to mention the word larvae now and Jake's gag reflex would react instantly and violently.

"Where there's one there's a blue-fuckin'-million, B," Jake's eyes went a little more crazed as he said it, and he shuddered like his skin was crawling. "Not to mention all the gross bug shit on everything, and the orgies they're probably having in here and the zillions of eggs they're makin', oh god. I can't-"

"Hey, hey, c'mere," Bradley intercepted the flailing rubber gloves and tugged Jake's arms around his own waist before moving to tuck Jake close to him. He moved his palms over Jake's tense back in an effort to soothe, stroked over the untamed blond hair and pecked a kiss on Jake's forehead. "It'll be okay, baby. I'll call an exterminator right now, okay? They'll come spray everything and all the bugs and their babies will die horrible, violent deaths, and we won't have to worry about them anymore, yeah?"

Jake took a deep breath and sighed against his throat. "Promise?"

Bradley pressed another kiss to Jake's cheekbone, and then pulled back a little to find his husband's pouty lips to smack a kiss against. "They'll rue the day they ever dared to infiltrated the Bradshaw household, angel."

Jake's smile was pure sunshine.

That had been a little past ten that morning, and the instance of domestic peace he'd savored holding his sweet Jake in his arms hadn't lasted but a blissful moment. The instant he'd ended the call to the exterminator with a dubiously scheduled appointment for "noonish", Jake had shoved a spray bottle and a hard-bristled brush into his hands.

"We've got to scrub this place down, B," he'd said under no uncertain terms and a hard glint to his eyes, like he was daring Bradley to disagree. "You start upstairs, I'll do the kitchen and laundry room, and we'll meet in the middle."

It was Bradley's turn to pout. "But…but food. Coffee? I'm hungry."

Jake looked at him askance. "It was crawling over there. I already broke down the coffee pot to clean it," he pointed to the thousand piece puzzle that used to be their coffee maker soaking in sudsy water.

Bradley whined.

"DoorDash something, babe. We're not cooking with pans that might have bug crap on'em. I'm not using a single utensil in this place until it's been scoured."

"Jake, honey, be reasonable."

"I am being reasonable, Bradshaw, this is me being reasonable. My first thought was to set the house on fire, okay? This is as reasonable as I can get right now. Strip the bed and get the sheets in the wash, please. Those little bastards have probably been crawling all over us in our sleep." He shivered, and then reached over for a quick, apologetic smooch and swatted Bradley's ass to get him going. "Thank you, baby."

Bradley groaned but reluctantly did as he was told. Jake tutted behind his back as he trudged back up the stairs thumbing over his phone for a DoorDash order. He wanted his damn fancy coffee, but he'd settle for shitty gas station brew at this point.

"It's just Spring cleaning, B," Jake called to him.

"Yeah, with a little dash of manic episode," Bradley mumbled sullenly under his breath.

"What?"

"I said I'll start in the bathroom, hon."

Bradley stripped the bed and toted the basket of linens down to the washer first, making sure to use the hottest setting per Jake's orders. He came back out to the kitchen to find Jake stretching up on his bare tip-toes to wipe the top of the fridge.

"Honey, why don't you ever use that little stool over there?" He inquired genuinely. He didn't know why Jake avoided the step stool like the plague, Bradley thought it was quite handy.

"Because stools are for short people," Jake huffed like the very thought offended him as he sprayed another burst of disinfectant. "I'm not short."

Bradley grinned wickedly as he rounded the breakfast bar on his way back to the staircase. "No you're not, babe, five-eleven is very tall."

He'd already had the good sense to duck and cover seconds before the wooden spatula sailed over his head, and he bounded up the stairs, giggling childishly all the way.

"I'm six feet tall exactly, asshole!" Jake hollered in his wake, presumably on his way to the living room to collect the spatula he'd hurled at him, "It says so on my damn driver's license! Bradshaw!"

It was nearing noon, and Bradley had just put the finishing touches on the bathroom, swishing the sudsy water in the toilet until the bowl sparkled. The en-suite had never looked this clean, and he was maybe a little proud of himself. He was by-no-means a great housekeeper, but even though he was still a bit pissed off for having to waste one of his days off cleaning, he'd sincerely done his best for his beloved Jake and his bug anxiety.

Though he hadn't actually seen a single sign of a bug anywhere in the bathroom. Or in the bedroom when he'd gone to pick up the pile of clothes beside the laundry hamper, or when he'd wiped down the tops of the dresser and the nightstands. There had been exactly one little cobweb in the corner of the bedroom above the window that looked like it'd been there when his mom and dad were still alive.

He'd deftly removed it with the broom on his way to sweep the bathroom floor.

There was a brief ruckus downstairs, like Jake had maybe accidentally dropped one of the saucepans on the floor. He paused mid-step to listen. He heard Jake mumbling under his breath, but he couldn't make out any other words besides bitch, and after listening intently for another minute and nothing else happened, Bradley began sorting more laundry into piles to wash.

It had been well over an hour since he'd called in that DoorDash order, and he was beginning to get a headache from being awake for so long without caffeine pumping through his veins. He'd ordered from that place with the giant blueberry muffins Jake loved so much. He'd gotten three of them, two for a late breakfast, and an extra one for later that evening when Jake got his inevitable sweet craving after dinner. And two giant cups of piping hot liquid greatness. The cafe he'd ordered from was a little out of the way, but their coffee was amazing. But it shouldn't have taken this long for the Dasher to find the house. He wondered what the hold-up was.

"Waaaaah!"

Bradley was barreling down the stairs before the startled shriek really even registered in his brain. The hair-raising cacophony that immediately followed had him panic-stricken and blinded with worry.

"Jake! Jake, honey, what's wrong? What's the-"

He almost missed the turn in his frantic dash, and shoulder-checked the archway frame that opened into the kitchen hard, and came face-to-face with what had to be a nightmare.

"Oh fuck," he flailed and flapped his arms uselessly, "oh shit. Oh hell. Oh god, Jake, baby, what…how…are you…Oh, shit-"

"Bradley, darlin', please calm down before you have a stroke."

The calm, quiet voice bore the distinct sharp edge of pain in it, gritted out from between tightly clenched teeth, and Bradley's hysterical brain finally snapped back online.

"Jake, what happened?"

It looked like a bomb had gone off in the kitchen.

The pots and pans were still strewn across the floor, but now so was half the contents of the knocked-over trashcan, and one of the bar stools was on its side. The big canister of sugar Jake kept on the counter had apparently exploded all over every flat surface in the room.

And his precious husband was laying on the floor curled up on his side in the middle of it all, gasping and hitching a little like he'd had the wind knocked out of his lungs.

"I used the stool, B," Jake gasped tightly, he'd yet to open his squeezed-shut eyes, "to get up on top of the counter."

"Huh?"

"The fuckin' bug, it… I saw it runnin' on the wall over the cabinets, so I climbed up there to kill it, and it…it fucking attacked me!"

"It attacked you?"

"It flew at me, Bradley! I didn't…I didn't know they could fly! Flew right the fuck at my face. Fucker fucking…kamikaze'd me!"

Bradley knelt down on the floor beside Jake, brows drawn with so much worry. He didn't know where to touch him to not cause pain. "Did you fall from up there on the counter?"

"Yep."

"…Are you okay?"

"Nope."

He waited a moment for Jake to elaborate, but he remained silent, breathing harshly through his flared nostrils. He waited a beat more in the silence.

"Jake?"

"Think I fucked up my shoulder."

That he'd admitted the injury outright scared Bradley more than it should have. Jake was a staunch "shake it off, rub some dirt on it" kind of guy, and clammed up when it came to any kind of hurt or ailment. He'd usually try to slink off in silence to lick his wounds in private until Bradley tracked him down to tend to him. To be such a compassionate healer, Jake hated being on the receiving end of being cared for with an obstinate passion.

"Where, honey? Let me see." He reached over to try to roll Jake off his fucked up shoulder, but the sudden snarl on Jake's pretty face subtly hinted that he might get bitten if he tried to move him.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," Jake's breath hitched again, "just…let me lay here a minute."

Bradley plopped down on his butt on the kitchen floor beside him and winced at the gritty sugar digging into the side of his foot. He leaned down to brush some of it away from Jake's face; it couldn't have been comfortable with his cheek smooshed into it. Jake whined at the touch.

"Did you hit your head?"

"Nah."

"Does anything else hurt?"

"…Nah."

"You sure?"

"Mhmm."

Bradley frowned at the clipped answers.

"Why didn't you call for me?" He gently admonished. "I would have gotten it for you, baby."

Jake huffed and gasped, scattering sugar granules with his breath. "Not a fuckin' damsel in distress, Bradshaw, I can…handle killin' a damn bug."

Bradley bit his lip and held his tongue. He looked around at the absolute mass destruction of their kitchen, and then back to his poor broken husband, but he for damn sure kept his mouth shut. He was many things, but he sure as hell wasn't stupid.

He was curious, though. "Why is there sugar everywhere?"

"Kicked it."

"You kicked it?"

"When I was falling. My foot." Jake's face scrunched and he waved the hand not trapped underneath him. "I kicked the shit out of it."

He'd seen the now empty sugar canister laying on it's side in the middle of the floor, the lid nowhere near it. Jake must have accidentally punted the thing like a football on his way down to get that impressive distance.

"How did you-"

"-Bradley, I swear to god if you ask me one more stupid damn question right now I'm gonna- oww! Shit fucking dammit!" Jake's legs bicycled against the tiles.

Bradley rested a steady hand on Jake's hip and took a deep breath. One thing he'd learned about the love of his life over the many months they'd been inseparable, was that Jake got a little…snippy… when he was in pain.

And when he was tired.

And when he was hungry.

And sometimes when he didn't get his way.

He always felt bad and apologized for his behavior afterwards, and Bradley knew not to take anything he said during those times to heart. It was just another of Jake's little quirks, and Bradley loved each and every facet of his husband's personality. A little meanness was just a little extra flavor. That was his precious, maddening Jake: a perfect mix of sweet and salty. And Bradley was addicted.

"Honey, I think we need to call an ambulance."

"No the fuck we do not." Jake finally opened his eyes, and they were too-bright with pain.

Bradley had never felt so helpless.

"Jake, baby, it's been a minute and you still can't move. I don't know how to help-"

"There it is!"

Bradley startled violently at Jake's sudden guttural shriek.

"Get it, get it, get it!"

Bradley surged to his feet as Jake pointed as best he could with his one working arm.

"Holy shit!"

It was the biggest fucking bug he'd ever seen.

Almost three inches long with an oily brown glaze, it galloped across the kitchen floor toward the living room at an impressive speed.

Bradley tripped gracelessly over the downed trashcan on his head-long dive to the front door. He yanked the door open, reared back and punted the bug as hard as he could.

It crunched audibly under his bare foot and his entire body immediately erupted in goosebumps. He flailed theatrically, his skin crawling with heebie-jeebies, and the giant - probably dead now - bug sailed out into the front yard.

"That there was an American cockroach."

Bradley hollered, his knee-jerk reaction to the sudden deep voice on the other side of the door had him kicking out reflexively, and he stubbed his toe on the door frame. The man standing on his porch was short and quite thin, and his white handlebar mustache made Bradley's own mustache look like peach fuzz. He wore a sweat-stained t-shirt with a faded Andy's Extermination logo on the breast pocket.

"I don't give a shit what it's nationality is, kill the fucker!" Jake gasped from where he still lay.

"I think it's dead, honey, I squished it."

"I need proof, bring me it's head."

"I don't have the head, but I think most of its guts are still on my foot if you wanna take a look."

Jake whined.

Bradley flailed a moment, torn between welcoming the exterminator and rushing back to Jake's side. "Shit. Hell," he beckoned to the old man and covertly wiped the bug guts off his foot on the mat by the door.

"Um, come in. I'm Bradley. We just…this is…we had a little incident a minute ago." He gestured with a broad swoop of his arm at the remnants of their kitchen, including Jake, who still hadn't moved from his tightly curled sprawl on the floor.

The old man looked around like he was admiring the interior design. "Hmm. Well, I've seen better and I've seen worse in the way of incidents, I reckon." He moseyed into the hallway, knocking on the walls as he went. "How many roaches have you boys seen this morning?"

"Just the one," Jake groaned weakly.

Heavy knuckles rapped a beat on the still wide-open front door behind Bradley.

"Ey, yo, next time you want coffee and donuts, there's a Dunkin like two blocks from here, did you know-" the bouncy young DoorDasher's eyes widened as he glanced inside. "Oh shit, is this domestic violence?" He inquired with a serious head-tilt as he placed the coffees and the bag Bradley had ordered on the little patio table outside. "Yo, this is some Doctor Phil shit, man. That's a shame, homie."

"This is not…domestic violence," Bradley replied through gritted teeth as he knelt back down and tried to make his poor Jake more comfortable on the floor. Jake was having none of it, though, and obstinately jerked out of his hold, and then yelped and hugged his arm closer to his chest. "There was a bug and it scared him, okay?"

"It didn't scare me," Jake gasped through labored breaths. "It just startled me, is all."

"Yo, hey man, blond guy, do I need to call Five-oh for you, bro?"

Bradley blinked up at the DoorDasher and nodded, "actually, yes, can you call 911 and-"

"-Do not call 911, Bradley, we are 911. Just…just help me up."

"I don't think that's a good idea, sweetheart, you could've hurt your neck or your back."

The exterminator reappeared from the laundry room in absolutely no hurry at all. "You boys mind if I go ahead and start spraying the perimeter?"

"Yeah, that would be great, thanks," Bradley nodded up at him as he passed by heading to the door.

"I'm…I'm fine," Jake griped, "I'm a medical professional, I know I'm okay, okay? Just help me sit up - no don't touch me," he yelled when Bradley reluctantly threaded a gentle hand under his shoulders. Jake was so pale he was almost gray, and a sheen of cold sweat coated his forehead. He kept swallowing like he was trying keep the nausea he was bound to be feeling at bay.

"Sweetheart, I really think you broke something. I'm calling the station."

"They'll laugh," Jake whimpered pitifully.

"No they won't, honey," he said, and amended his promise when Jake gave him a look. "Not until after you're feeling better, I'm sure."

Twelve and a half minutes later Bradley stood at the door with the antsy, adorably concerned DoorDasher and watched as first an ambulance and then a fire engine wheeled into their yard.

It must have been a slow day at Station 86.

Javy Machado sprang out from the driver's seat of the ambulance, dramatically shouting Jake's name the moment it was thrown into park.

Bob and Natasha fell out of the vehicle looking a little shaky and rattled, no doubt from Javy's breakneck speeding on the freeway. Jake was usually partnered with Javy, and they quote "matched each others' freaks" behind the wheel, but Nat and Bob decidedly did not.

Mav, Slider and Hollywood slid out of the idling engine looking sharp in their station polo shirts, their faces pinched tight with worry. A medical call to a squad member's house on his day off never boded well, especially when it was the captain's godson.

Javy had already barreled past him into the house - Bradley knew better than to stand between him and his best friend - but he threw a hand out and barred the door, and waited until he had everyone else's attention.

"No laughing," he growled, protectiveness and possessiveness already rearing up inside him with so many people now about to hover over his injured and vulnerable angel. "I mean it. He's in too much pain to handle being picked on right now."

"Jesus, kid, what happened?" Mav asked, worry lines etched deep between his eyebrows.

"Hey, yo, what had happened was," the DoorDasher cut in vigorously, "I'm fillin' in for my homeboy Carlos, aight, cuz his girl's having a baby. I drive three point eight miles out of my way for this coffee," he pointed to the probably cold coffees and the bag of muffins sitting on the patio table. "Ya feel me, dawg? But I thought, ey, it's a nice neighborhood so I'll prolly get a big ass tip, know'I'm sayin'? So anyway, I pull up and this big ass angry dude right here opens the door all like waah," he flailed and kicked, "and yo, I ain't gonna swear to it, but I thought I heard somebody sayin' something about somebody killin' somebody and bringing a head to 'em. That's like some straight-up Godfather shit right there, dawg."

Bradley's mouth opened to interject-

-"So, anyway, I peep in, ya know? The door's wide open, so I'm all like, hey yo what's up, I got your coffee'n shit, cuz I gotta keep my cool if I'm rollin' up on some kinda crime scene, and man, I'm tellin' you, this poor dude is laying on the floor all like-" he flung all his limbs askew, tongue lolling out, "-I mean it looks like he put up a damn good fight in there, is all I'm sayin', but he definitely lost, big time."

Five sets of gob smacked eyes blinked at the boy, and then at Bradley, who sighed tiredly and shifted out of the doorway to let them in.

"He saw a bug and freaked out and fell off the kitchen counter."

Javy snorted from his crouch by Jake as the squad cautiously entered. "With the distance he covered? Boy didn't fall, he launched himself off it."

"It came after me," Jake groaned, and pathetically tried to push further away from Javy and his judgy face. "Sounded like a fucking B-fifty-two flyin' at my face."

Hollywood whistled at the state of the kitchen. "What the hell happened in here?"

"Spring cleaning," Bradley replied, droopy and dejected. He winced as Mav stepped on the half-eaten yogurt he'd tossed into the trash the night before, and it spurted warm, soured yogurt juice across the floor.

Maverick grimaced, his lip curled up in abject disgust, but he thankfully didn't say anything about it as he circled his downed godson-in-law.

"Jake? How ya doin', kid?"

Jake moaned, wordless and theatrical, and Mav's eyebrow quirked in an odd mix of concern and amusement.

"What's it looking like, Coyote? How's he doin'?"

Javy clicked his tongue as he continued to gently palpate Jake's shoulder. "Dumbass fought a bug, and the bug won."

"Fuck off, man," Jake whined, and tried to bat his best friend's persistent, wandering fingers away from his chest with his working hand.

"He broke his clavicle. He yeeted himself off the counter and broke his clavicle. And the chair. And the trashcan. How the hell did you manage to cause this much damage? Damn, Jake. A bug?"

Jake grunted, his bare feet tried to find purchase on the slick tiles again. "Why don't you just fuckin' kick me and get it over with, jackass."

Javy shook his head in disappointment. "You used to jump out of helicopters under enemy fire, bro, what happened to that guy?"

"Javyyyy."

"Javy," Bradley warned. He hovered just out of the way of the medics, chewing on his thumbnail like a distraught spouse, but he was very close to shoving Machado into wall if he didn't stop picking, bestie or not.

"Quit riling him up, Jav," surprisingly it was Natasha who came to Jake's rescue. She was crouched on Jake's other side attempting to keep Jake's arm still long enough to get a blood pressure reading, and visibly frustrated at Jake's half-hearted wiggling.

"He's just pissed because it scared the shit out of him when the call came through," Bob whispered loudly to Bradley as he went out to get the gurney. Which, fair enough, it would've sent Bradley into a blind panic if he were in Javy's shoes. But he could take out his righteous relief on Jake when he wasn't laying on the floor broken and in pain.

Javy sighed, nodded, and deftly inserted a needle into the crook of Jake's elbow.

Bradley had to look away for a moment, suddenly a little lightheaded. He fucking hated needles.

"You keep swallowing, you nauseous?" Javy finished securing the IV port and reached up to pat Jake's pale, pain-scrunched face.

"Yeah, I'm gonna throw up."

"Go ahead and let it fly, bud," Wood called from his easy lean against the archway frame, "a little puke ain't gonna matter on this floor right now."

With a decade of service in the Navy under his belt, Jake still took direct orders like champ. With permission explicitly granted, he immediately stopped fighting his roiling stomach and leaned over and gagged helplessly. Javy jerked back out of the way, but before Bradley could move to help, Mav swooped in with a handy sauce pan that he shoved under Jake's face, and a fatherly hand to soothe his sweaty hair back.

It was such a simple gesture, but the sight made Bradley a little emotional. He would forever be so thankful for Mav and Ice for so easily and willingly taking over the role of loving and supportive parents when his mom and dad died. He was grateful he could now share their love with Jake, too.

"That's it, buddy," Mav muttered as Jake retched and gagged and whimpered, "take it easy, you're fine. It's okay."

It took only a minute or two for Jake to settle, but to Bradley, who could do nothing but watch helplessly, it felt like forever. He didn't bring up anything but a little sticky bile - he'd only eaten a light dinner the night before and skipped breakfast - but the effort left him pouring sweat and his body wracked with tremors.

"Ugh," he whined, and tried to shift back off his hurt shoulder, "B?"

Bradley jerked out of his thoughts and leaned over Javy. "I'm here, sweetheart."

"Go'way."

He blinked. "Huh?"

Jake turned away from the pot under him, and Mav took the hint and moved it to the sink. "I don't want you to see me like this, baby."

Bradley smiled, and elbowed his way back to Jake's side again. "Sorry, sunshine. For better or worse, remember."

"I lied about the worse."

"Nope. You're stuck with me forever now." He gently caressed Jake's flannel-covered hip, and couldn't help thinking how much he loved how his hand fit there so perfectly. "No takebacks, remember?"

"Ugh," Natasha groused as she fiddled with a vial she'd pulled out of her bag, "hand me that pot, Cap, now I'm feeling nauseous."

"Perimeter's been sprayed."

"Jesus!" Slider shrieked, the sudden deep voice at his shoulder jolted him from his slouch by the breakfast bar.

The exterminator nodded once. "Afternoon," he greeted mildly, and waved the spray wand in his hand at the half a dozen startled firefighters squeezed into the little kitchen. "Just wanted to let'chall know I'll be headin' under the house now."

Bradley leaned back from his squat to see around Cap's legs. "…Okay, yeah, thanks."

Maverick leaned heavily against his shoulder when the old man disappeared again. "Bradley," he breathed quietly, side-eyeing the DoorDash driver hovering by the front door, arms crossed like a bouncer. "Are there any more…people… here that we need to be aware of?"

"Not that I know of, Cap."

"Okay. Good."

Bob came back in then, struggling briefly with the gurney as he tried to push it around the tight corner between the front door and the staircase. The DoorDasher jumped in to steer the front of it. "Ey yo, watch out for that pile of shoes, man," the kid pointed out helpfully. "My grandmama saw all them shoes by the front door, she'd whoop them dudes' asses, I'm jus' sayin'."

Hollywood snorted loudly and moved over to make room for them to enter the kitchen.

Jake looked up at the shoe comment, obviously offended, but he balked when he saw the gurney.

"I don't need that, I can fucking walk."

Javy shook his head with an evil smirk. "You know the rules, Jakey. And anyway, you can't even move without blowin' chunks, how do you think you'll be able to walk out of here?"

"Oh god, don't say blow chunks," Jake's throat spasmed again.

"That's what I thought," Javy and Natasha moved around each other in a tight choreography. "Let's get you ready to go, bro."

"BP's a little elevated, but not too bad," Nat announced, "pushing morphine."

Bradley blinked, and so did Jake as they both remembered something important at the same time. "Oh, no-"

"-Wait, hang on…shit." Bradley gripped Jake's hip again in support as he watched his best friend pull back the empty syringe.

Natasha frowned. "What? He's not allergic, it would've said so in his records."

Bradley shook his head miserably. "It's not that. Morphine makes him-"

"-Oh, damn, B. Holy…fuckin' shit." Jake's pretty eyes widened, his pupils immediately constricting to nothing but tiny pinpricks as he tried to focus on Bradley's face. "You're so… your mustache's fallin' off."

"-Weird," Bradley lamely finished.

They'd talked about it a while back, laughed over it, how Jake had odd reactions to certain medications. How Tylenol made him nap for hours, and how Benadryl left him anxious and hungry and climbing the walls.

The anesthesia he'd received when he'd gotten his wisdom teeth removed had him sobbing hysterically over a butterfly killed by his CO's vehicle on the ride back to base. He didn't actually remember the incident, but his unit replayed the video that his cackling, merciless CO had taken of his breakdown every chance they'd gotten.

But the only thing he'd ever mentioned about morphine was that it made him "stoned out of his mind" and he hoped to never have a repeat performance with it.

With the way Jake's eyes were flitting and twitching, they were all in for it now.

"Slid…right the fuck off your face, B, go…go catch it," Jake laughed merrily, and reached for something across the floor that only he could see, "b'fore it…slathers away."

Bradley caught his wandering hand. "It's okay, J, I'll catch it later. Just relax now, yeah?"

Jake blinked his watery eyes, his brain switched channels. "Javy!" he belted, and grinned when his friend smiled down at him. "I love you s'fuckin' much. Macha-roo. You're so sparkly, dude. Like…like toothpaste."

Javy shook his head. "You are one happy space cadet, brother."

Nat sighed and grabbed the end of the backboard that Bob handed off to her. "Never seen it hit quite this hard before," she said lightly, trying and failing to hide her amusement. "I'll make a note in his record."

Jake squinted. "Ta…Tanasha."

"Try again," she replied lightly and patted Jake's cheek to wipe the watery tear tracks away.

Jake visibly concentrated."…Nat."

"Good job, buddy."

"My…mitochondria power houses'er…on fire, d'you know that?"

Natasha smiled supportively. "I didn't, thank you for telling me. Good thing we're the fire department, huh?""

Jake grunted, his head flopping to the side before Javy could hold him steady. "Who's that guy, B?"

Bradley tracked Jake's glazed gaze behind him, to the DoorDasher still leaning against the wall beside the door. The kid reached a hand out and rubbed his fingers together in a silent, universal sign for give me some damn money.

Oh, right. Tip.

Bradley ignored him. "He brought our breakfast, honey. I got you a coffee and a blueberry muffin."

"Y'got me a muff'n?" Jake squeaked, happy tears welling in his eyes again. "You're s'good t'me, baby, thank you s'much, you're th'best hub…hubsand ever. I wanna marry you a'gin. An' a'gin, an' a'gin."

Bradley was thankful he didn't mention he'd gotten him two muffins, it might have sent his poor Jake straight over the edge. "Maybe when you're feeling better, sweetheart."

"Woah," Jake exclaimed, eyes darting to the ceiling, "damn…squirrels."

"Alright," Nat said, the professional clip back in her tone. "Roll on three."

Bradley moved out of the way as the paramedics deftly secured Jake to the gurney. Jake, for his part, didn't put up much of a fight at all, just let out a weak but gleeful "wee" when they rolled him off the floor and onto the backboard.

Maverick squatted beside Jake and patted his hair.

"You feeling any pain, kiddo?"

Jake giggled dreamily. "Shaa, I'on' feel sheeeeut." Morphine appeared to bring every bit of latent Texas out of him, to the point that even Bradley was beginning to have trouble deciphering the thick twang.

"He doesn't feel anything," Javy translated easily thanks to his Louisiana roots.

"Hey, Mav," Jake continued with a sweet smile, "whadder you doin'ere?"

Maverick wheezed out a chuckle. "Came to see you, buddy."

"'M on th'floor."

"I see that."

"'M also on the…the top. Up there. The ceilin'."

"You are, huh?"

"Yup."

"How'd you get up there?"

"Hmm…floated. With'th…scurrls…I think." He smacked his lips and frowned, and wiggled as best he could now strapped to the gurney. "'m itchy, B."

Bradley reached out and took his good hand again as they began to move. "I know you are, honey. It's the morphine, it'll wear off in a bit."

"My skin's got…legs."

Bob made a face like he was trying desperately not to laugh. The snort he couldn't quite stifle caught Jake's attention, and he lit up like a stoned sunbeam. "Bobby!" he crowed, "Bob-Bob-bobbidy-boo. Why're you inside me?"

Bob squeaked, face on fire. "Jake, buddy," everyone was struggling with the gurney now, weak and uncoordinated with quiet, helpless hysterics at poor Bob's expense. "I'm not inside you. I'm…out here."

Jake's tongue roamed over his lips. "'Kay," the gurney jostled around the hard turn to get to the door. "'M goin' on a trip in a…in a… rockin' ship," he warbled out of tune, "goin' through… what? Little Ein…steins…up in the moon…"

"Kid's high as a damn kite," Hollywood laughed, following them out.

"The bugs," Jake suddenly cried as they pushed him outside, "Bradley, Ithinkth'bugs…ate th'squirrels…"

"The squirrels are fine, baby," Bradley called after him, hopelessly confused but still supportive.

He'd stopped on the porch with Mav and Slider, just watching his poor loopy Jake being wheeled into the front yard. His eyes were big and wondrous, and tried desperately to focus on the tree branches above.

"Noooo, the…the s'wirls-" he trailed off as Javy and Bob unceremoniously shoved him into the back of the ambulance.

Mav shook his head and turned to Bradley. "Go get your shoes on and ride with Jake," his godfather took charge, and it felt nice not to have to make decisions for a moment. "Slider and Wood'll stay here with…that man under the house-"

"-The exterminator."

"The exterminator, yeah. I'll follow in the Bronco and hitch a ride back with Javy."

Bradley nodded, and moved to the door to grab his shoes.

"What about this guy?" Slider asked, his big hand clamped on the DoorDasher's shoulder, who seemed happy to finally be included.

"Yo, man, I ain't in no hurry," the DoorDasher replied with a crooked grin. "This shit got me all intrigued. Y'all are crazy. Bugs an' squirrels an' shit. Imma switch routes with my homie 'cuz y'all crazy as hell. Don't tip for shit, though, all I'm sayin'."

A sudden wail from the back of the ambulance startled them. "They're gonna cook us alive!"

"Calm your dopey ass down, this ain't a damn oven," crowed Javy's exasperated reply.

Bradley grimaced and slid on his shoes. "Are you sure I can't just ride with you, Cap?"

Mav grinned brightly and clapped him on the shoulder. "Welcome to marriage, son."

The ride to Mercy was thankfully brief, and by the time they pulled into the ambulance bay, Jake's elated high had plummeted into a stoned stupor.

The charge nurse - Bradley couldn't remember her name, but the five foot nothing blonde lady was a firecracker, and he was a little afraid of her - met them at the automatic doors as soon as Bob shoved Jake out of the back of the ambulance.

"Jakey," she greeted as she fell in-step with them, "not usually on that side of the gurney, honey, what happened?"

Jake blinked up at her before falling shut again. "Bug."

She frowned and turned to Javy, gesturing to the open door of unit 3. "Bitten? Stung?"

Javy snorted. "Buzzed."

"He's been drinking?"

Javy shook his head as he pushed Jake through the curtain and engaged the wheel locks. "No ma'am, a bug buzzed him and he threw himself off his kitchen counter to get away from it. Displaced clavicle fracture. BP's one ten over seventy, had a mild histamine reaction to the morphine, as well as a moderate intoxication reaction, but that seems to be wearing off, thank fuck."

"Bad trip, huh?" The charge nurse jiggled Jake's toes with a kind-humored smirk.

Bob swiped his glasses off and wiped his face with a bandana. "He was a nut, Ms. Pattie."

Jake's face was still slack and loose from the light doze, but he hummed in agreement and tried to pull his foot away from her teasing.

Nurse Pattie clicked her tongue and turned to Bradley. "Hello again, beefcake," she reminded him so much of his mom, all bright and sunny and vicious, "see you bounced back okay from that run-in with the drunk and disorderly lady." He didn't want to talk about it, his jaw still smarted when he chewed too hard. "I'd ask how married life is treating you boys, but I'm getting a pretty good picture right now."

He smiled his best charming, aw shucks smile and answered honestly, "it's been nothing but bliss."

Jake hummed again, and Bradley reached over and patted his thigh.

"They're so in love it's obnoxious, Pats," Nat groused, deftly reaching up to adjust Bob's glasses. "They'll be stuck in the honeymoon phase forever. Honestly, nobody can stand being around them."

Jake grunted, and Bradley's smile turned fond and genuine when he watched his husband's lips quirk up into a somewhat muted version of his signature shit-eating smirk.

His angel was finally coming around.

Jake's nurse had blue hair and a neck tattoo of a ladybug holding a switchblade.

The irony didn't escape Bradley, but he kept his mirth to himself as best he could.

"Heard he had a bit of an episode with the morphine?" She fiddled with the pulse ox Jake kept obstinately flicking off his finger in his near-doze.

Bradley snorted at the understatement. "A bit, yeah."

The nurse tapped on her iPad. She looked bored, and that helped calm Bradley's nerves down. If the medical people weren't panicking, maybe everything was okay.

She hummed, still clicking away at the tablet. "That's not an uncommon reaction, really. You said he has strange reactions to lots of medications?"

"Yeah, even Tylenol."

"Hmm," her nails click-clacked faster. "Super sensitive. Do you know how much he weighs?"

"One eighty-ish. One eighty-five? I think." Jake looked slim and svelte, but he was as solid as a brick shithouse. He'd lost a little of the bulk he'd carried in the Navy, had leaned out thanks to his newfound obsession with yoga, but he was still pretty heavy.

Bradley knew, because Jake always demanded to be picked up and carried around like a damn princess when the notion struck him. He smiled at the thought. Though his back protested, Bradley wouldn't have it any other way. Just meant he had to keep himself in great shape so he could tote his clingy, adorable husband around until they were old and gray.

"And what's his height?"

"Five ele-" drug-hooded green eyes popped open, and the dangerous glint in them plainly promised no sex for the foreseeable future if he finished his sentence. "-Six feet tall exactly, it's on his drivers license."

That he'd worn his cowboy boots the day he'd gotten that license was apparently still irrelevant. The dangerous glint faded immediately into something that resembled fondness, and Jake's eyes fell shut again.

Bradley didn't miss the bratty little uptick at the corner of his lips.

"And a…you said this happened…because of a bug?" Bless her, she tried to sound professional, but her voice broke with ill-hidden humor.

"Yeah, a roach."

"Damn."

"Yeah."

"Did it have a knife?" She pointed to her neck.

He bit his lip. "Far as I know it was unarmed."

The nurse snorted with a pointed look to Jake, all trussed up in his temporary immobilization sling. "Hah, well now so is he."

Bradley barked out a startled laugh. The staff at Mercy were quick-witted and hilarious. He hoped Jake could land a job here when he became an RN, he'd fit in perfectly.

The nurse tappy-tapped a few more notes into her tablet and stood, and patted Jake's knee. "Alrighty, Mr. Bradshaw, we'll get you down to imaging in just a few minutes, okay?" She turned to Bradley as she pushed the curtain open. "He'll probably sleep through most of the next few hours, won't remember much of this visit. So don't worry if he's disoriented or extra sleepy," she threw him a jovial wink. "My name's Liz, call if you guys need anything."

Her smile was professional again and reassuring, and then Bradley was left alone with Jake, who looked like he was already fast asleep, slumped over precariously on the inclined bed. He perched on the edge of the bed and watched him doze, just because he could, and took a deep breath in the relative quiet of the emergency room.

"…She called me Mis'er Bradshaw."

The slurred, breathy voice beside him made Bradley jump. "That's your name, honey."

"She's…tha's the first time somebody 'sides us's called me that."

That made Bradley pause. "…Really?"

"Mhmm."

Bradley's heart swelled with affection at the proud little smile on Jake's upturned face. He reached over and took Jake's good hand and held it tight. "Just the start of a long and happy lifetime hearing it, huh, sweetheart."

Jake smiled sweetly, but just as sudden his expression turned pinched and sullen.

"'m sorry I ruined our vacation, baby." He sounded so tired and woebegone, and Bradley wanted nothing more than to scoop him up and hold him close.

"You didn't ruin anything, angel," he promised sincerely, and Jake finally opened his eyes again to see if he was telling the truth.

He was.

"I already talked to Mav. He'll write this week off as medical leave. I'll pick up a couple shifts, but our vacation time is safe. We'll take some time off as soon as you're feeling better."

Jake visibly deflated, and relaxed back into the elevated mattress. "Really?"

"Yep," he leaned over and pressed his lips to Jake's sweaty forehead, and smiled when he felt Jake lean into the kiss. "How 'bout we go somewhere fun this time instead of staying home and cleaning, yeah?"

"I…think tha's a good idea."

"One thing, though."

Jake blinked and side-eyed him suspiciously. "Wha's 'at?"

Bradley leaned back and pressed another kiss onto Jake's wrist. "From now on, you let me handle the bugs in this relationship. Deal?"

Jake's eyes rolled before they closed. "Yeah, yeah," he groused with a smile. "Deal."

The sun had long set when Bradley helped his wobbly, sleepy-eyed husband up the front porch steps in near darkness. Jake's arm was pinned against his chest in a new Velcro sling, and the cuffs of his pajama bottoms were tucked into Bradley's work boots that he'd had stashed in the back of the Bronco.

"Whoops, take it easy, hon," Bradley gently chided as Jake stumbled in the unlaced, too-big boots. "Not so fast."

His poor Jake was too drugged and too tired to care if he face-planted in the front yard as long as he got to lay down somewhere, but he was also thankfully too tired and drugged to fight Bradley's guiding hands pushing and pulling him the relatively short distance.

"We're here, baby," he propped his loopy husband against the wall long enough to fiddle with the door lock.

"The kitchen…" Jake sighed, his unfinished thought trailing off and flying away on the warm ocean breeze. He closed his eyes and pressed his face into the siding.

Bradley grunted and jiggled the stuck doorknob. One day he'd get around to fixing it, but the notion always left him as soon as the door swung open, always a project for another day. "I'll clean it later, honey," he promised, and guided Jake into their dark home. "Right now lets just get you settled."

He reached out blindly and flipped the three light switches by the door - the living room, hallway and kitchen - and flooded their home with warm light. He pushed Jake down to flop gracelessly on the little entryway bench and knelt down to remove Jake's borrowed boots.

Jake slow-blinked, watching him but clearly still not comprehending very much.

Bradley smiled up at him. It was good to be home with his man, even if his home was currently a bio-hazard and his man was currently an adorable zombie. "Maybe we should do something with all these shoes by the door, huh." He added the boots to the pile and then toed off his own sneakers.

"'Ssss'a basket full'a…bug shit."

The soft country drawl that Jake still had no control over drew his attention back to his husband. His bloodshot green eyes were unnaturally bright and still a little unfocused as he listed over to peer around Bradley's hip.

"No more bugs, sunshine," he replied lightly. He was beginning to worry - the pain pills and the remnants of the morphine were really doing a number on Jake's discombobulated brain. "Remember I told you the exterminator told Slider he didn't see any signs of bugs anywhere, yeah?"

Slider had called while Jake was getting x-rays with the good news that the "creepy little bug guy" had given them the all-clear, no signs of an infestation, and that the offending bug that felled Jake had probably hitched a ride in the bags of groceries they'd brought in the night before.

The very thought had Bradley shuddering in mortified disgust.

But Jake only frowned, his eyebrows pinched together stubbornly. "No, B… look." He gestured, not with his fully working hand, of course, but with the four uncoordinated fingers poking out of the sling.

Bradley turned to see what caught his hazy attention, and had to do a double-take.

Their kitchen was not only clean, it was spotless. Appliances gleamed, the stainless steel no longer smudged, the floor tiles had been scrubbed and mopped, and the frayed kitchen rugs had obviously been washed and dried. The scattered pots and pans were nowhere to be found, probably back in their designated cabinets. The coffee pot had miraculously been reassembled, and the counter tops and sink had been wiped and polished. No trash littered the floor, no remnants of the exploded sugar canister, and the broken bar stool had been meticulously mended with duct tape.

And if the sight made Bradley a little emotional, well, it had been a long and harrowing day, and maybe his nerves were still a little frayed. "Damn," he sniffed, and blinked the heat away, but the warmth of having a family who loved him, who loved them, continued to smolder like cozy embers in his chest. "We've got some squad, don't we, J?"

With a grunt, Jake heaved himself up one-handed and wobbly, and tottered precariously into the pristine kitchen. "No, the…fuck'n…that thang," he pointed again, and Bradley blinked.

"I'll be damned," he laughed, "it's a basket full of bug shit."

On the little breakfast bar was indeed a huge, cellophane and ribbon-wrapped gift basket full of bug paraphernalia. Multiple cans of insect sprays boasting a 25ft reach!, and a half dozen boxes of roach motels. A handful of plastic toy bugs had been thrown in for sheer meanness, along with loose sheets of sticky bug traps. A bouquet of fly swatters lay beside the basket, tied in a red bow and propped on a new paper bag from the diner he'd ordered from that morning.

Bradley cautiously opened the bag and was only mildly surprised to see several blueberry muffins, and genuinely surprised to see the hefty gift card stuck between them, courteous of Captain Mitchell and Station 86.

"Those assholes," he laughed fondly, and showed Jake the muffins. "Want one?"

Jake clumsily pulled out the not-broken bar stool and eased his undoubtedly sore body into it. With hooded red eyes and wild hair sticking up on-end he looked like he'd just woken up from a three day bender, but he reached out with grabby fingers until Bradley pulled the wrapper off one and handed it to him.

He munched on it, quiet and content, obviously trying not to fall asleep mid-bite as he picked curiously at the basket ties to unwrap it. And Bradley couldn't help the crooked, besotted smile that stretched across his face as he watched his precious husband.

It took a minute for Jake to notice. "Quit lookin' at me like that," he mumbled around a mouthful, and licked at the crumbs on his lips. Bradley tracked the movement with unabashed heat in his eyes.

He leaned over and planted his elbows on the counter across from Jake and shamelessly checked him out. "I can't help it if I find you irresistible, gorgeous," he replied, low and raspy and sincere.

"Fuck off," Jake groused, but he couldn't stop the happy smile pulling at his sugar-coated lips, or the attractive blush blooming across his cheeks.

"Y'know," Bradley continued, and unwrapped a muffin for himself, "not many people can fall off a countertop and break a bone, and stay all day at the hospital, and still look so damn cute."

Jake picked a little plastic beetle out of the basket and chucked it at him. It missed by several inches. "You're so full'a shit, Bradshaw," he replied lightly, and hefted one of the spray canisters out. "I know they meant this as a joke, but it's really nice."

"It sure is." Bradley shoved half the muffin into his mouth. His jaw clicked around the dryness, and then around a yawn. He was fading fast and couldn't imagine how tired Jake must have been. "Come on, Mister Six Feet Tall," he said after a minute, and wiggled his fingers for Jake to grab and pull himself to his wonky feet. "We'll look at this stuff tomorrow. Let's get you into bed."

Jake didn't stagger so much as just leaned heavily into him. "You been…try'na do that since we met."

"Think I succeeded a couple times, at least," he replied, and stole a sugary-sweet kiss before guiding Jake toward the stairs.

"Carry me."

"Not on the stairs, babe, we talked about this," he tried not to stagger under Jake's sudden completely unhelpful dead-weight. "Let's try not to break anything else important today, 'kay?"

Jake grunted and leaned further into him. "Hey, B?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"I think…" Bradley watched Jake frown, visibly confused. "Never mind."

He stopped at the foot of the stairs and adjusted his grip. "What is it?"

"Nothin'."

That made Bradley frown, too. Jake always told him everything. "No, none of that, honey, what's up?"

Jake whined and laid his head on Bradley's shoulder as they started up to their bedroom, slow and steady.

"I think… I know it ain't… Bradley, I swear I think I remember that roach had a fuckin' knife…"

Bradley blinked, bit his lip.

"And…were there squirrels in the kitchen? I'm bein' serious, B, quit laughing..."

The end. 🪳