Chapter Text
Bradley comes to and blinks his eyes open before slamming them back shut. It is fucking bright in sickbay and his concussion protests. He’s not too proud to muffle a quiet whimper.
“Aw, hell, sorry, one sec,” comes a familiar drawl, and Bradley can tell the lights are dimmed even without opening his eyes back up. “Better?”
“Yeah,” Bradley answers, but he’s keeping his eyes closed for the time being and taking paced swallows as nausea decides to rejoin the party. “Fuck.”
The other person in the room brushes Bradley’s forehead with a cool wrist, hums, and shifts to the other side of Bradley’s bed. “Pain? Ribs, neck?” he murmurs quietly.
Bradley shakes his head, once, and his stomach protests. “Nauseous.”
“Check, we can get you on a drip for that,” the man says, and Bradley snorts.
“This the royal we, Hangman? Making a career change already? Gotta say, I’m a little curious about how that ego of yours will translate into any kind of bedside manner.”
There is a very, very long pause, and shit, Bradley thinks–-okay, maybe that was going a little too hard right out the gate for the guy who not only saved his life 12 hours earlier but also apparently cared enough to be visiting him in sickbay.
“Uh, Lieutenant?”
Bradley forces his eyes open and then blinks a little dumbly. He would have sworn he was talking to Jake, and it sure as hell looks like Jake, but like, some kind of meta-verse version of him who’s slightly older, slightly taller, and in the wrong uniform but with the right name on his badge. “Um. Who…?”
Not-Jake is looking at him with no small amount of curiosity, eyebrow arched a little and his arms crossed over his chest. “Lieutenant Commander Patrick Seresin,” he says slowly, gesturing at himself. “I’m part of the SEAL team on board for the search and rescue y’all apparently decided you weren’t going to wait for.” He smirks. “Seems you know my brother?”
Bradley decides he is going to come back to that later. “Uh, but, why…” he gestures at himself, blaming his concussion for how slowly he was connecting any of these dots, and not just being tongue-tied around a stupidly attractive man.
Patrick-–Jake’s brother, apparently-–reaches out and pats him on the shoulder before turning to the cabinets and pulling out a drip bag for an IV. “Medic,” he explains. “Ship’s crew is a little short-staffed given the unplanned nature of the mission, so I offered to help out.” He hangs the bag carefully and pulls on a pair of gloves before swiping the inside of Bradley’s elbow with alcohol. “Make a fist, please.”
Bradley obeys automatically and takes the opportunity to stare unabashedly while Patrick inserts the cannula and carefully tears the medical tape to secure it to Bradley’s arm. He actually did know that Jake had older siblings–even if it hadn’t come up in conversation before, Jake radiates baby-of-the-family energy like nobody’s business. And Bradley also knew his older brother served–just not the particulars, or not that he remembered, at least. Jake’s incessant need to make himself the topic of conversation didn’t often extend to his family.
Bradley’s scrutiny is rewarded with a list of some of the more subtle physical differences between Patrick and his brother, although not one he consciously meant to make. Patrick’s hair is a shade or two darker than Jake’s pure gold, as is the stubble that is just starting to appear on his jaw. His extra height seems to be all in his legs; Bradley’s best guess is that he and Patrick have the same two inches on Jake. His eyes roam back to Patrick’s face and his breath catches at the friendly warmth of the otherwise familiar grin he finds there.
Hello, cognitive dissonance.
Realizing he’s still staring, Bradley tries to get his shit together. “Bradley Bradshaw,” he says, holding out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Pleasure’s all mine,” Patrick replies, snapping off his gloves and returning the handshake. “Those meds should kick in pretty soon. D’you mind if I take a look at your ribs?”
Bradley shakes his head and pushes the sheet covering him down to his waist. He shifts and tries to push his tank up his torso one-handed without disturbing the IV, but Patrick stops him with a gentle touch on his wrist.
“Be still, let me, okay? I’m sure you’re tough but your entire chest is one big bruise right now, and you should keep the movement to a minimum until we can get you wrapped.” He’s not kidding, either; as he pushes the hem of Bradley’s tank up around his nipples, all Bradley sees is purple. Patrick grimaces. “Yowch, dude.”
With the nausea starting to clear and his brain coming back online, yeah, Bradley’s starting to feel it. “Damn,” he grunts, dropping his head back on the bed.
“Yeah, you cracked those but good,” Patrick says, palpating the area with careful fingers. “Uh, this might be a little awkward, but I’m gonna lean in and help you sit up, okay?” He glances up from Bradley’s chest to make eye contact, and his green eyes are so familiar that Bradley is struck a little stupid as Patrick bends over. He slips both of his arms under Bradley’s back to wrap his hands up around the top of his shoulders, lifts effortlessly, and just like that Bradley is upright–and clutches at the sheet pooling in his lap.
He doesn’t know what to think or what his body is doing at the moment. His head is foggy as shit and he knows he couldn’t get aroused right then even if he wanted to, but he’s still reacting in some kind of way to this not-Jake who is just as gorgeous but also apparently nice. Bradley doesn’t have the first clue what to do with that.
And so of course, that’s when there’s a sharp rap at the door and Jake’s head peeking around it, before either of them invite him in. “Bradshaw, you- oh.”
Patrick’s just taken Bradley’s hand and placed it on one end of the Ace bandage now centered on his sternum, and he catches Bradley’s eye and says “hold that for me” before glancing over his shoulder at the new arrival.
Even though he’s turned mostly away, Bradley can see a huge grin and dimples on Patrick’s face. “Jakey! What’s up, bro, what’re you doing here? Close the door.”
Jake does, then leans against it, two bottles of Gatorade held between his fingers. His eyes are fixed on where Patrick is gently winding the bandage around Bradley’s chest, otherwise exposed with his undershirt still bunched under his armpits. “Um. What?” he finally says. “What are you even…” he trails off, and Bradley has never seen Jake look so confused. Or confused at all. Ever.
Patrick glances back at him again, then turns back to Bradley and arches an eyebrow so slightly that Bradley barely catches it. “Okay, so you’re here to see the hero of the hour, here, and not your favorite brother?”
“I’m the hero of the hour,” Jake says, but it’s missing any shred of Jake’s normal ego and he looks like he barely realizes he said it. “I was just- I brought- “ He shakes his head, then, seems to pull himself together, and tosses one of the Gatorades on top of Bradley’s shins.
“Watch it, Jake-hole,” Patrick says mildly, taping up his wrapping job and tugging Bradley’s shirt back down for him. “This guy isn’t banged up enough?” He leans in close to Bradley again, puts his right hand carefully against his collarbone, and starts peeling the bandage off the side of his neck with his left.
Jake’s “sorry” is immediate but quiet, and Bradley wishes he had his phone to have recorded that for posterity (or group chat fodder at the very least). He seems completely transfixed by what his brother is doing to Bradley’s person, and only makes eye contact with Bradley after Patrick has pressed the new bandage carefully in place and turned around.
“C’mere, kid,” Patrick says, pulling Jake in for a tight hug, Jake’s eyes still on Bradley. Patrick steps back, but not before ending the hug with an affectionate and unapologetic kiss to Jake’s forehead. “How are you doing? They check you out too?”
“Yeah, just a little dehydrated, I’m good,” Jake says, but he rubs his eyes a little. He takes a small breath and then addresses Bradley directly for the first time since he burst in. “How about you, Brad…shaw? You look-”
“Good?” Bradley interrupts, smirking, though Jake’s returning grin is a little weak.
“Maybe,” he shrugs, and just like that, the Hangman mask is firmly back in place. “I was going to go with ‘wrecked,’ but why kick a man when he’s down.”
“Why indeed,” says Patrick, reaching down to twist the cap off the Gatorade and handing it to Bradley with a grin. “You must be special.”
“So special,” Bradley chuckles, taking the drink with a mock toasting gesture. “Since we all know Hangman is normally so sensitive about other peoples’ feelings.”
Patrick grins. “So you do know him.”
“This is not news to you, Pat,” Jake frowns, crossing his arms. “What are you even doing in here.”
Bradley wants to know more about how Jake’s brother knows about him, but then Patrick says, “Oh, just giving him a life-affirming lapdance, what’s it look like?” and Bradley chokes a little.
He can’t even begin to identify the quick pass of different emotions on Jake’s face in response to that before Jake says, “Well, you know how he got his callsign. Better hope he’s a good tipper, you’ll earn it.”
“God, Jake, you’re such a dick,” Patrick laughs. “Calm your tits, I’m just helping out. Doc’ll be back on duty at 0600, which,” he turns to Bradley, “is in a little less than three hours, if you think you can get a little more rest until then. You seem to be doing as well as you can be, given everything, so my guess is he’ll release you then.”
Bradley feels certain that he needs to add metaphorical whiplash to his list of current ailments. He’s never seen anyone keep pace with Jake’s bullshit before, not even Coyote, and it is weird.
Patrick reaches up to grab a blanket from the closet and turns back to Bradley’s bed, spreading it across his legs and squeezing his knee briefly. “Okay, about to get all up in your business again so we can lay you back down,” he says, and his arms are strong and secure around Bradley’s back once more. “All good?”
“All good,” Bradley confirms. Patrick honest-to-God fluffs his pillow, steps back…and winks at him.
“Okay, big guy,” he says, and Bradley can feel his ears getting hot. “I’m gonna go get some shut-eye, but you will see me again, for sure.” He claps his hand on Jake’s shoulder as he passes him, and with a “later, boys,” he’s out the door.
Bradley and Jake both stare after him for a minute, the room quiet until Bradley manages, “So… that’s your brother?”
“That’s my brother,” Jake sighs.
---
The next time Bradley sees Jake’s brother, he’s no longer concussed, so hopefully less of a walking disaster. His stay in sickbay was mostly hazy; he didn’t trust his memory of meeting Patrick at all. But when Bradley spots him in the wardroom, with what he assumes are some other members of his team, he discovers he certainly hadn’t dreamed how much good looks ran in the Seresin family.
Patrick clocks him as soon as he enters, lifting his chin briefly in acknowledgement and a dimpled grin. Bradley’s proud he doesn’t trip as he makes his way to Natasha and Bob.
“You don’t look too bad,” Nat says, and she and Bob both give him a once-over that’s creepy in its synchronicity. “All clear?”
“Not to fly anytime soon,” Bradley admits. “But allowed off leash at least.”
“Leave’s gonna do all of us some good,” Nat says. “Only thing going on my calendar is Netflix and chill.”
“Nice,” says Bradley, while Bob blushes. “Stay hydrated.”
A wry “good advice” comes from behind Bradley’s shoulder, accompanied by a quick pat to the top of his head and then a gentle squeeze to the back of his neck. Nat and Bob raise their eyebrows in tandem and Bob’s jaw drops open a bit. “Gonna take it yourself, Bradshaw?”
Bradley twists around in his seat and raises his own eyebrows at Patrick. He guesses cockiness runs in the family, too.
“You’re not my dad,” he retorts, smirking, and Patrick’s grin gets even bigger. Bradley ignores the choking noises from across the table and drapes his arm across the back of the empty chair next to him. And looks his fill.
Yeah, he definitely wasn’t misremembering either the family resemblance or the honestly unfair level of attractiveness possessed by the man in front of him. Who looks delighted by Bradley’s shameless scrutiny and tilts his head to the side. “Well, well,” he drawls. “There’s a good daddy joke in there somewhere, but perhaps not in polite company. Who’re your friends?”
Bradley does his best not to get too sidetracked by the mental images that produces and turns back to the table. “Natasha Trace and Bob Floyd,” he points. “Guys, this is Jake’s brother, Patrick.”
Patrick leans across the table to shake hands with both of them. He braces his other hand on Bradely’s shoulder for balance and then just. Leaves it there. “Pleasure.”
“No shit?” Nat looks delighted. “Bob, how much blackmail material do you think we can get on Bagman in the next five minutes?”
Bradley surprises himself a little with his own reaction to that, which is a quick and sort of defensive “hey.” Nat rolls her eyes at him, and when Patrick drops into the chair next to Bradley, he looks surprised–-and assessing.
“Ain’t nothin’ that comes free,” Patrick says, looking back over at Nat. “But for you, the price for a little dirt on Jakey might not be anything more than a stiff drink when we’re back on dry land.”
Something in the way Patrick says that doesn’t sound exactly hypothetical, and Nat bares her teeth in a grin. “Deal,” she says, and Bradley doesn’t think he’s imagining it when she looks back at him with a challenge in her expression. Bradley just isn’t sure whether she’s goading him about Patrick…or Jake.
“Blood will out,” Patrick says mildly before shifting and draping his arm across Bradley’s chair. “Meanwhile, this guy’s first beer is on me.”
“Not that I’m complaining,” Bradley manages, “but any particular reason?”
Patrick pauses, shoots a quick glance back over at Nat and Bob, then lets his eyes linger on Bradley’s chest. “A man needs a reason to buy a drink for a good-lookin’ guy?”
And, wow, Bradley wasn’t expecting that level of blunt self-confidence, but his entire libido sits up and takes notice. He thinks he hears Bob actually squeak. “I’d be flattered,” Bradley says, doing his level best to dust off his very, very rusty flirting skills, “but I’m a little skeptical about the follow-through. Won’t you and your buddies have somewhere else to be once we’re ashore?” It’s teasing, but he’s also not trying to get his hopes up.
Patrick gives a little shrug. “Dunno about my buddies, but my marching orders have me sticking around. So you can count on that follow-through.”
Bradley’s confused. “Navy’s pulling you from your team?”
“Navy? Naw,” Patrick snorts. “These orders come from on high: Momma Seresin herself.” At Bradley’s expression, he clarifies. “Momma wants me to keep an eye on Jake during y’all’s leave. I told her he’s a big boy who can take care of himself, but he’s her baby, so I don’t got much of a choice.” His eyes are bright and green and don’t leave Bradley’s for a second. “Not that I’m complaining, mind, now there might be something in it for me.”
Bradley can’t hold back a huffed laugh at that. Patrick grins, raps his knuckles on the table once, and gets to his feet. “So you name the place,” he says. “I’ll be waitin’.”
Bradley doesn’t even pretend not to stare at his ass when he leaves.
“Dude,” Bob breathes.