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A plume of dust rose up from under the Bronco as Bradley swerved onto the sand. The seatbelt dug hard into his shoulder when the car crashed into a Joshua tree by the side of the road.
"Fuuuuuck," he groaned once he managed to shake off the sudden rush of adrenaline. After the week he'd had, this was the last thing he needed.
He glanced back, but there was no sign of the coyote that had appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the empty desert. It must've scampered off, scared away by the noise.
Bradley took a steadying breath. It was not the end of the world, nothing more than an inconvenience. He turned the key in the ignition, and the engine purred back to life, only for its puttering to die down right after- along with the remnants of Bradley's positive attitude.
"Fuck," he said again, this time with more conviction.
It wasn't that Bradley couldn't fix his own car. It was more that, from experience, he had around fifty percent chance of making it worse instead, and he'd heard enough mechanics lamenting the state of his car after the attempted repairs to know better.
He got out of his car, leaned on the hood, and fished his phone out from his pocket.
He had to swipe his thumb over the screen to clear the sweat that had accumulated on the surface, gathered from where the glass had been pressed against his thigh. Close to midday, the sun was beating straight down on him, making the tiny screen near-illegible even at full brightness. Somehow, he managed to thumb through his contacts, biting his lip in indecision.
Most of his friends were still back in Oceana, so the options for a ride or a helping hand were pretty thin. He tried Phoenix first, but it went straight to voicemail. Then, he tried Bob, but he was probably with Phoenix because his phone only rang twice before doing the same. The next name on the list stared back at him accusingly, but Bradley just sighed and shoved the thing back in his pocket.
A glance at the sign over his head confirmed it- the next stop was still ten miles out. Bradley was just about to resign himself to the trek when he heard the tell-tale sound of another vehicle barreling down the road. He squinted down the highway, shimmering with heat, and tried to make out the approaching figure. Bradley raised his hand.
The passenger window rolled down, the A/C blasting a shock of cold across Bradley's skin, and shit, maybe he should have tried his luck calling Maverick instead.
Hondo peered back at him, gaze inscrutable behind his glasses. His eyes flicked to the Bronco. "Need a hand?"
The urge to wave Hondo on and say he had a ride coming was overwhelming; the last thing he wanted was to be stuck in Hondo's company after the dressing down he'd gotten right before the mission. (It wasn't until after, when the adrenaline and the relief had abated, that he conceded Hondo'd had a point that day. Still didn't make the memory of it go down easier.)
The sun beating down mercilessly on top of his head convinced him he was being an idiot. He shrugged. "You know anything about '80s Fords?"
"I know about fixing engines," Hondo replied, and eased his truck onto the shoulder of the road. He hopped out and grabbed a toolbox from the bed, then gestured at Bradley. "Pop the hood and let's see what we can do."
"Okay." Bradley summoned a smile. "Thanks."
Hondo didn't smile back. "I'm not doing this for you."
It took all of Bradley’s willpower to keep his smile glued to his face as he gave Hondo a tight nod.
“Right, of course,” he said, voice flat as he ducked back inside, grateful for the chance to escape Hondo’s gaze as he popped open the hood.
It was ridiculous that just a few words could have him clenching his fists as he took one calming breath after another but here he was - stranded in the desert with the ghost of his debt to Mav hanging over him.
“You’re gonna need a new radiator hose,” Hondo said, forcing Bradley out of the safety of his cabin, only to stop in his tracks as he noticed the plumes of smoke coming off his engine.
“Wait… it shouldn’t be doing that, right?,” he asked, feeling the dread start to pool in his stomach as Hondo gave him a pitying look.
“Your engine overheated because your hose was misaligned. I can fix it up enough to get you to the nearest gas station but we’re going have to wait awhile for your engine to cool down,” Hondo patiently explained, only the frown on his face giving away how he actually felt about the situation.
“And- and how long will that take, do you think?” Bradley asked awkwardly. The last thing he wanted to do was wait around in the middle of nowhere with a man who very much did not like him.
Hondo looked at the smoke billowing off the engine and hummed. “30 to 45 minutes on a usual day perhaps, you broke down in an unfortunate place though - an hour, I’d say. Before I can start working on it, that is.”
Bradley almost groaned out loud. Great…
Well, there was nothing he could do in the meantime. He backed up, turned around and leant over the tailgate, wincing as the hot metal burnt his chest. He grabbed a couple bottles of water rolling around and chucked one to Hondo.
“Here, it’s all I’ve got. A bit warm, but all I’ve got, sorry.” Bradley unscrewed the cap, took a gulp and grimaced. It… wasn’t great.
Bradley huffed, walked over to the rock at the side of the road and perched himself on it. Hondo didn’t follow him, just watched him, flat eyed and with a blank expression.
“Go on then, say what you want to say. Don’t hold back now.”
“Get a new car.”
“What?” It’s… not what he was expecting.
“I know old stuff is all the rage right now and you’ve got that—” Hondo gestured at Bradley vaguely. “—stuck in the 80s thing going on, but it’s time to move on. This thing is going to die on you out in the desert again and there won’t be anyone to save you.”
Or in a snowy forest in enemy territory, Bradley thought glumly.
“It’s a classic.”
“Classics aren’t meant for everyday driving. Get yourself one of those new Broncos they’re making now or something and let this thing live out its days in a garage.”
Bradley honestly couldn’t tell if he was just reading the implications into what Hondo was saying. He knew Hondo was on Mav’s side before Mav was pushed into retirement from flying, so surely…
“The new models are shit.”
That earned him a snort from Hondo. “Don’t I know it.”
So then why did you say I should get one? Bradley didn’t ask. He kicked at the sand under his feet and took another sip of disgustingly warm water. The sun must have been getting to him, because what he said next was, “I don’t think she’s ready for retirement yet.”
Hondo made a noncommittal noise and ducked under the hood to check the engine’s status. “Yeah…this is going to be a while.”
Bradley tried to keep his grimace to himself. “Any way we can cool it down faster?” he asks, holding up the water bottle.
Hondo raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Only if you want to make this worse.”
“Right.”
The silence dragged on and Bradley wasn’t sure how much longer he could take the awkward tension. He was just about to try to make some kind of small talk when he realized Hondo was studying him.
“What?”
“What are you doing out here anyway?”
Bradley crossed his arms, looking away uncomfortably. He wasn’t sure he wanted to share the nature of his errand with the warrant officer, but he thought Hondo would probably be able to tell if he lied.
“Well?” Hondo prompted.
Scuffing again at the dirt under his foot, Bradley cleared his throat. “I was going to China Lake,” he admitted, still not meeting Hondo’s eyes.
“Bit outside the liberty radius,” Hondo said, and Bradley didn’t need to look at him to know his eyebrows were raised. “Why China Lake?”
Bradley took a deep breath, trying to keep himself from taking his discomfort out on the Bronco.
“I…” He paused to clear his throat again. “He already knows everything about me, what I’ve been doing.” He looked at Hondo sharply. “Don’t tell me he doesn’t. I know he kept tabs on me. I just thought maybe if I could find out what he’s been doing, even just a little bit…”
Hondo pushed his glasses up his forehead, rubbing both hands over his face. “And you couldn’t just talk to Mav?”
“I was going to,” Bradley protested. “That was the whole point, I just wanted to even the playing field.”
Hondo sighed, loud enough that Bradley frowned. He was about to get bad news.
“Don’t waste your time at China Lake,” Hondo advised, finally cracking open his own bottle of water. “You’re not gonna find out anything you want to know.” He took one sip, made a face, then closed it and tossed it right back into the bed of the Bronco.
“I have to try something,” Bradley argued, “I just wanted to show him that-”
“That what?” Hondo pressed.
“That I care!” Bradley shouted, nearly stomping his boot in the dirt with frustration.
Hondo shook his head, muttering, “Seventeen years to show him that- a phone call would have done it.”
“I care,” Bradley insisted, stepping forward, practically at attention in front of Hondo.
Hondo appraised him for a long minute, then sighed again and checked his watch.
“Engine’s gonna be another 45 before I can get to work. Tell you what, there’s a little diner up that way, about ten miles. Buy me lunch while we wait and I’ll let you ask me anything you want.”
“You’ll tell me about Mav?” Bradley asked eagerly, nearly bouncing on his feet.
“I didn’t say that. I’ll let you ask me, and we’ll see what I tell you.”
“Uh, okay,” Bradley agreed, following Hondo over to his truck, practically wagging his tail now.
Hondo smiled. It was a start.