Chapter Text
It was sheer coincidence that Bradley even found himself awake at this time of night; usually, he’d be out like a light hours ago, the soporific allure of sleep too seductive to ignore. Especially being only a couple of days out of a months-long deployment, the inherent comfort in returning to a familiar bed, to familiar sounds and smells was usually enough to knock him out without any real effort at all.
Tonight though, something had kept him awake. Despite his best efforts – rolling himself tightly into his comforter, black-out curtains drawn, white noise machine on – sleep just would not find him.
When his phone vibrated with a notification, he knew it was a bad idea to look. He knew that all it would do was lure him into doom-scrolling until he simply passed out from exhaustion. He decided to check it anyway.
As he leaned over and squinted at the screen he immediately regretted it.
Hangman (3)
The name on his screen was startling to say the least. He hadn’t spoken with Hangman directly in years. Sure, they kept in the peripherals of each other’s lives through their mutual friends, they had dipped in and out of a shared group chat here and there, and had even been to the same parties a couple of times. Bradley would have forgotten he even had this number saved if he wasn’t compelled to stare at it in the small hours some nights, wishing he had the courage to reach out.
They didn’t talk anymore.
An argument could be made that that was Bradley’s fault. In fact, many arguments had been made to that effect, but Bradley himself found it more difficult to accept that blame.
For a long time, the two of them had been in and out of one another's orbit.
It had started when Hangman and a few others had been recruited into Rooster and Phoenix's squadron, the Mighty Shrikes, right out of flight school. He'd strutted in with all the bravado and attitude that a callsign like ‘Hangman' would warrant and immediately started pissing Bradley off.
They clashed in every way. Their styles of flying, their priorities when it came to a mission, their temperaments, hell, even the ways they dressed were at odds.
Hangman was reckless and impulsive, and he rarely considered the consequences of that. Bradley was calculated and purposeful, and that meant he sometimes took longer to make calls in the air.
Bradley’s idea of a successful mission was completing the objective, and getting himself and his team home. He wasn’t about to prove Maverick right by doing something stupid like dying out on a mission. To Hangman, coming home didn’t seem so imperative. He was reckless and glory-seeking – if he were kinder, Rooster would have called him self-sacrificial.
It pissed Rooster off to no end that he acted like he was a better flyer than even the seasoned vets among them. It was even worse when they all started to realise he might have been right.
Eventually, the squad did warm up to him, though. After a supposedly straight-forward mission went south, Rooster went down behind enemy lines after losing fuel through a bullet hole in his tank. He was pinned into the cockpit and bleeding. Hangman had shot down a bandit that was flying to intercept him and deliberately crash-landed his plane to get Bradley out. When they were found by search and rescue, it had been hours. They were hypothermic, Bradley had lost two pints of blood, and they’d both vowed never to fly a plane older than themselves again - no matter the strategic advantage it afforded.
After that, Rooster had found it difficult to hate him. He found himself defending Hangman to their squadmates, seeking him out in crowded places, and even volunteering to be his wingman for training exercises ( occasionally ; he was grateful, not masochistic).
That wasn’t to say that they didn’t still butt heads, they absolutely did. It was that now, Rooster didn’t feel the need to strangle him during those moments.
They were friends. Good ones, even.
Though, after eight months or so, Bradley started to notice a shift in other things too – how closely Hangman would sit next to him during debriefings, how long his throat stayed tight if their fingers brushed when Jake handed him something, how often Bradley would be staring at the man only to get caught when he glanced back.
Everything about Hangman was vexing, and that had never changed. What did change were the reasons why Rooster felt that way.
“You’re obsessed with him,” Phoenix had declared one team night after Bradley had inadvertently been ranting about the guy for an embarrassingly long time.
Struck dumb, he couldn’t manage to say anything more than “No,” in a voice that was pathetic even to his own ears.
“Yeah,” she had nodded decidedly, “you spend more time looking at, talking about and, I’m pretty sure, thinking about him than anyone healthy should.”
And the kicker was that he couldn’t exactly argue.
Sure, they could be considered something like friends now, but he knew he didn’t feel the same about Jake as he did about Natasha.
He’d get a thrill when he caught Jake looking for him on team nights. His eyes would crinkle at the edges and his signature smirk returned when they caught each other’s gaze. Bradley loved it when Jake would lean over to conspiratorially whisper something to him at their CO’s expense. It felt like they were doing something wrong if they both turned up in the common at the same time, alone except for one another, and ended up standing too close.
Over time, Rooster stopped trying to pathologise it and instead just let their odd connection lead him. He didn’t question it when Hangman started to text him on the rare occasions that the squad parted on leave, or when he found himself anticipating a good night message, or when he sent good morning ones in return, or when Jake called him after his Chevy broke down forty miles from base.
Bradley had dropped everything to go to him. If anyone asked, he’d say that he just wanted the opportunity to rag on Jake for almost an hour uninterrupted. The truth, though, was in the way his stomach swooped when he’d arrived at the address he’d been sent and Jake smiled at him. The Chevy was still hooked to the tow truck just outside, and Bradley pulled up alongside it as he watched Jake walk over.
“My knight in horrible Hawaiian print,” he’d teased. The glint in his eye stayed fond despite the complaint that Rooster had gotten oh-so used to hearing by now.
“Shut up and get in the car, Hangman,” Bradley couldn’t keep the affection out of his words as he watched a little too intently as the man climbed into the Bronco.
The whole journey to their housing was oddly peaceful. They managed to talk with relative civility; Jake talked about his old truck back on his family’s ranch in Texas which devolved into Bradley talking about his mother’s southern upbringing. Jake talked about his sisters, whose jobs had them scattered across the country – it led them into a conversation about what they’d be doing if they weren’t in the Navy.
Bradley laughed until his cheeks hurt when Jake confided that he’d probably be working in the rodeo circuit, and he struggled to tamp down his blush when he imagined Hangman wrangling a bull on horseback with nothing but a lasso and a cowboy hat.
They spent some time talking about their job, about their squadron, about flying. Jake asked Bradley why he didn’t go to the Academy and backed off without being asked when Bradley clammed up. Instead, he changed the subject, pointing out the shapes the clouds made in the setting sun, trying to make Bradley laugh.
By the time Bradley parked the Bronco, it was dark.
They sat in silence for a beat too long. Neither of them moved to get out. It was still strange to Bradley that he felt comfortable in Jake’s company without the need for witty remarks and thinly veiled compliments dressed as insults.
Not that he didn’t enjoy those things, but the quiet allowed him to bask in Jake’s presence a little. It was indulgent and definitely didn’t help to quell the racing of his heartbeat or the tightness in his lungs, but he couldn’t help luxuriating in the comfort it afforded.
“Thank you,” Jake had been the one to break the silence. “You didn't have to come get me.”
“You knew I would though,” Bradley replied, maybe a little too earnestly. It charged the air between them with something electric.
Because of course Rooster came, of course he did.
Another long moment passed and still they sat. Bradley hadn’t risked moving his eyes from where they’d fallen on the steering wheel at the end of their journey. He hadn’t risked taking a deep breath for fear of inhaling Jake’s fading cologne and losing his goddamn mind. All of which turned out to be an entirely futile exercise, because the moment Jake took a breath to speak again Bradley’s resolve broke.
He’d leaned over into Jake’s space and pulled him into a mind-melting, lip-blistering kiss. With one of his hands hooked around the back of Jake’s neck, he rested his thumb against his pulse point. The rabbiting rhythm there made Bradley nervous for a moment before he felt Jake relax into his hold, his own hand moving to grasp at Bradley’s wrist, pulling him closer.
Bradley took the invitation to wrap his free hand around Hangman’s waist, fingers dancing at the hem of his shirt where it had ridden up in the car ride. Jake's nails scratched gently through the cropped hair at his nape.
Something like fear told Bradley to stay reserved, to keep the kiss gentle. He didn’t push, he didn’t take everything he wanted – and good god did he want. He let Jake set the pace, gratefully accepted all he wanted to give, and nearly lost his mind when Jake’s tongue brushed his bottom lip. Bradley had to fight the urge to mewl at the attention. He didn’t fight it well enough though because Jake groaned at his reaction, pushing himself into Bradley’s space.
Sadly it was not a very big space.
They’d forgotten that they were still confined to the Bronco’s cab and got sharply reminded when Jake accidentally leaned on the horn and they jolted apart.
Rooster already missed the contact, the places where Jake had been touching him felt cold, and his lips twitched and tingled to be occupied again. Neither of them spoke as they both caught their breath, chests heaving and eyes wandering. Rooster searched Jake’s face. He wasn’t even sure what for, but he needed something from him.
Reassurance maybe, that this wasn’t a huge, friendship-ending, heart-breaking mistake. That this wasn’t going to end their careers.
When their eyes met again, Jake was smiling, but it was sadder than Bradley wanted.
“I should go,” he’d suggested, “don’t want anyone getting ideas.” Somehow, Jake managed to sound lighthearted and bitter at the same time. As if he knew what had to happen the same way Bradley did.
He didn’t move until his phone started ringing. A name Bradley recognised flashed across the screen and Jake looked at him apologetically.
“Javy, can you give me a sec?” He didn’t wait for an answer before dropping the phone to his lap and looking up again, poised to say something but hesitated – it was uncharacteristic enough to throw Bradley off. When he did speak again, it was clear it wasn’t his initial thought.
“I need to get this,” Jake sighed, “I told him I was stranded; I don’t want him to worry.”
It irked Bradley that he understood. He wanted to argue, maybe pout and play for more of his time, but knew it wouldn’t be fair. Bradley tried not to take it personally. Instead he nodded, watched as Jake moved to go, and tried not to read into the way he wavered as he did.
Bradley watched Jake walk away, up to his housing, and fumble with his keys, phone pressed between his ear and shoulder. It wasn’t an action that could usually seem deft, but he pulled it off somehow. He’d glanced back at the Bronco before disappearing inside and that short look, shrouded in the late evening gloam, caused all of the thoughts Bradley had been avoiding until now to come flooding in.
Doubt, fear, guilt, and shame all hit him at once, mixing with everything good he’d been feeling for the last couple of hours. It curdled in his stomach and fogged up his mind. Bradley felt like he could breathe for the first time, like colours were brighter and sounds were clearer. He felt right .
But it warranted a dishonourable discharge.
Rooster valued his career over almost everything else. He’d worked too damn hard to risk losing it – no matter how much he may have wanted to. It had been hard to admit that Jake probably felt the same too. As much as it pained Bradley to see it, Hangman was on the road to becoming one of the best pilots in the Navy. He shouldn’t have to throw that away because Bradley can’t accept that he doesn’t get to have things like this.
He doesn’t get to have people.
Nat was the exception, not the rule. For a long time, Bradley kept everyone at arm's length; too used to loving and inevitably losing. He’d gotten comfortable with the stability he’d found with the Shrikes. Complacent.
For a while, it had felt like he could keep the people he cared about. He loved his squad like family, relied on them like family. But he’d never gotten to keep his family before, why would that have changed?
He hadn’t slept that night. The next morning he'd applied for a transfer.
He kept his distance from Jake until it came through. Nat had called him an idiot, but she understood.
The day before he left for his new squad, Jake wouldn’t look at him.
So they didn’t talk anymore.
Bradley pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes as he sat up in bed. Whatever this message was, he was almost certain he wouldn’t like it. He took a deep breath before he opened it.
Nix told me you were back stateside
I dont really know how to start this but im getting married next month and itd be cool if you came.
I miss you
There was no pretence of a greeting, no delicate opener. He supposed that made sense. It was Jake’s way to be blunt and straightforward. He never had time for uncertainty; he made decisions and he followed through with them.
Although Bradley couldn’t claim to know him anymore.
It hurt. They had been friends once. Sure it had started off strained but they trusted each other, enjoyed being in one another’s company. To be so completely on the outside of Hangman’s life now – to have such a stark reminder of that texted to him in the middle of the night – was a horrible blow. It made his stomach roil and his eyes burn.
What was he supposed to say in return? Was it even a genuine invitation? Did Jake actually want him there or was it some misguided attempt at politeness? Bradley didn’t think the last one was too likely.
In any case, he wasn’t sure what to do. All he could think of was what he hadn’t done.
He hadn’t tried to reach out after his reassignment, to let Jake know that he didn’t regret that night. He hadn’t tried to reconcile again.
The one time he’d seen Jake since he left the squad was a year later when they’d been deployed together, somewhere out in the Pacific. Rooster thought that he’d gotten over him. It was embarrassing how wrong he’d been. The moment he caught sight of Jake across the mess, his heart leaped into his throat. It dropped again when Hangman barely acknowledged him when their eyes met, as if they’d never even met before.
He had thought that leaving it would be for the best; he understood why Jake was so angry with him and there was nothing he could do now to change that. Not to mention they still had to survive a six-month stint on a ship in the middle of the ocean together – the very definition of an inescapable problem. But Jake, on the other hand, had never been one to shy away from confrontation.
The first opportunity he could find to get Bradley relatively alone, Jake pulled him aside.
There weren’t many places on an aircraft carrier that were secluded enough to have a conversation like the one they needed to have, especially right before a hop, so it was somewhat of a miracle that they found one. Although no one was close enough to hear them over the general bustle of personnel around them and the waves crashing against the ship, Bradley was conscious of the number of people around who would see their exchange. Jake still liked to posture and perform, it seemed.
“Bet this is a nasty surprise for you, huh, Bradshaw?” Hangman asked, a cocky grin fixed in place. “Can’t say I’m lovin’ it either.”
It was the first time he’d heard his voice in more than a year but it was familiar as ever. Bradley had imagined what he’d say if they ever met again, and had meticulously planned it all out. That plan was entirely lost on him now, and it made him pause for too long.
“Oh, right,” Hangman said in faux-realisation, he pretended to check a watch that wasn’t there, “Take your time, Rooster. Ain’t like we’ve got anywhere to be.”
The southern drawl, the confidence in his words, the effortless way he pushed Bradley’s buttons made him miss the man all the more, even though they stood only a few feet apart.
“I mean goddamn,” he laughed in a way that might have seemed genuine if Bradley didn’t know better. To him, it sounded thin. “Did you think you’d avoid this forever? The navy ain’t that big, man.”
“I’m sorry,” Bradley had rushed out. He even surprised himself, and it seemed to throw Hangman off for a moment too.
He recovered quickly though, and narrowed his eyes, that infuriating smirk growing broader. Meaner. “Well, what do you know folks? He speaks." Jake hooked his hands into his flight vest and Bradley fought the temptation to follow the movement with his eyes, “You’re about a year too late.”
“I know.” Bradley sighed, suddenly exhausted. “I shouldn’t have left like that. I was scared.”
Jake just stayed stoically silent, his gaze unrelentingly evaluating.
“It was selfish and it could have cost us our wings,” Bradley continued, “I kinda hoped leaving would make it up to you?”
This time, Jake’s laugh was genuine, but it was also humourless and harsh. “That’s what you think I’m mad about?” he asked incredulously. “Were you even in that car?”
Bradley had blinked at that reaction, deeply confused.
“God, I knew you were slow, but you ain’t stupid, Bradshaw.” Hangman moved his hands to rest on his hips, defiant.
“You can’t be mad that I left,” Bradley breathed disbelievingly.
“Can’t I?” Hangman spat, “Sure feels like I might be.”
It hadn’t been an eventuality he’d considered before. It had always been blatantly clear that Hangman’s one priority, the thing that took precedence over all for him, was flying. It had been a foregone conclusion to Bradley that any threat to that – including Bradley himself – would be abandoned to the wayside. Perhaps it had been cowardly of Bradley to run away instead of face what that would have looked like, but he was only a man. He couldn’t bear to be let down again.
“I thought–”
“And there’s your problem, Rooster,” he laughs again, sardonic, “the one time you do something without thinkin’ and it’s the best decision you never made – then the second you get in your head again you go on doing stupid shit.”
Bradley had had his head spun too many times in that conversation to quickly process what Hangman said, or to come up with some semblance of an intelligent response. Instead, he continued to listen. As hard as it was to hear, Bradley found that he drank in every word. The drawn out vowels hypnotised him, the natural curve in Jake’s lips as he chewed someone out had Bradley hooked.
“You chose to leave, you chose to not tell me why, and you chose to give me nothin’ but radio silence.” Jake admonished. “I thought we were at least friends, Bradshaw. I thought you respected me more than that.”
He was cut off by a loud ship-wide announcement, and it was clear they were running out of time. That prospect seemed to spur Bradley’s mind back into action.
“We were more than friends, Jake,” he replied, probably too honestly, “that’s why I had to back off from you.”
Jake was quiet for a moment, not just in his words but in his face and movements too. Bradley couldn’t read him anymore and he hated that. After what felt like an eternity, he scoffed with a roll of his eyes.
“Well, you don’t need to worry about that anymore. See you in the air, Bradshaw.”
It was cold and final; he’d said it as he started to head for pre-flight.
Bradley was left reeling, horrified at his own stilted participation in that conversation, frustrated at Jake’s signature dickishness, and utterly gobsmacked at how badly he’d apparently handled things back then.
The whole deployment had been painful, made worse by the fact that they still worked well together in the air. It was like Hangman could read his mind, knew exactly where to be and what to do. In turn, Rooster could anticipate his movements, managed to guess which of Bradley’s calls he would ignore.
That professionalism carried them through those six months. But that was all. There was no charade of friendship, no closeness or trust when they were outside of their jets. The antagonism they’d always shared was still there, but Hangman had long since abandoned the camaraderie that used to run through it. His taunts and jeers had been softened by affection, once. Suddenly – or not so, as it was – they held all the sharpness and animosity of a rival, if not an out-and-out enemy.
Bradley missed the way Jake used to look at him; like he was trying to figure something out and had no intention of giving up; like he thought Bradley was worth his time.
At the end of that detachment, they were more like strangers than they had been even when they first met. Bradley found it nauseating that he couldn’t reach out like he had before. Hated that he couldn’t compliment his flying without it seeming forced and uncomfortable, nor could he chew him out for doing something stupid like he wanted without worrying it’d push them apart further.
He missed leaning over to share in private jokes over meals, he missed when they used to rhapsodise over navy-nerd things together, and he missed hearing Jake’s Texan accent slip out when he got tired and let down his guard. It was even worse to Bradley knowing that he was the one to cause it all.
At the time, Bradley had thought it was the worst decision he could have made; pulling Jake aside when they made it back to the dock and everyone started going their separate ways. He was sure that he was setting himself up for another, more final, heartbreak, but he found himself hauling Jake along anyway until they were out of danger of being stampeded.
His face was thunderous, clearly none too happy about being manhandled. He snatched his arm out of Bradley’s hold and took a deep breath, no doubt to start hurling insults.
Bradley wasn’t going to let himself be deterred. He had an agenda, he knew what he had to say, he was going to say it.
“I get it!” He began, more aggressively than he had planned, but it did the trick of shutting Hangman up. “You hate me, I messed up, I ruined everything – I get it!”
Jake didn’t respond, but he snapped his mouth shut which was as good an invitation to keep talking as Bradley was ever going to get. Some of the urgency left his voice when he did.
“I’m sorry. Please believe me when I tell you that I know I’m a moron, I know I did the wrong thing and I am sorry .” He paused with a bone-tired sigh. Jake didn’t interrupt.
“You know what my career means to me, Jake,” Bradley tried to meet his eyes, but found him staring distantly across the dock.
Technically he’d never told Jake about his dad, or about how he’d always felt like he needed to prove himself to Mav and always fell short. But in one of their late night conversations, lips loosened by a few beers more than they should have had, Bradley had confided in Jake about his passion for flying; about how it was more than a job, it was his connection to people. He told Jake that he came from a military family and that, while he was estranged from most of them, his career was the one thing he allowed to tether him to them. To the past and the memories it was sometimes too painful to remember.
“I panicked,” Bradley’s voice broke and he fought the lump that burned in his throat, “I told myself it was because you were too good to be true. I was just scared and selfish.
“I’ll never be able to make up for how I hurt you, so I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t expect things to go back to how they were, but I can’t bear being a stranger to you, Jake.” He took a breath and angled to try and meet Jake’s gaze again. When it didn’t work he powered on.
“You were right the other day; we used to be friends. I miss that. I want to be friends.” Almost all the wind had been lost in his sails by now. Bradley was all but certain he’d be turned down, cussed out and abandoned. He didn’t realise that he’d been braced for impact until none came.
Jake sighed, eyes still far away and unreachable – it looked like they'd welled with tears. He shook his head.
It wasn’t the rejection Bradley was expecting, but it wasn’t shocking. Bradley was the one who succumbed to outbursts of anger and frustration but, ever his foil, Jake kept cool. He expressed himself with subtle gestures and cutting remarks. It was fitting that something as slight as a head shake was so devastating.
Quietly, almost reverently, Jake echoed Bradley's words like he couldn't quite believe them, " 'Too good to be true', huh?" He sighed a humourless laugh and started to walk away, still yet to meet Bradley’s eyes. “Maybe try again in another year.”
Bradley could feel his heart crack and splinter as he watched him go.
Bradley never did try again.
Maybe it was a sort of self-inflicted punishment. He’d convinced himself that he didn’t deserve the redemption that would be if it worked. If all the apologising and begging and groveling in the world finally convinced Jake to forgive him, it still wouldn’t be enough for him to forgive himself.
Instead, Bradley relegated himself to watch from afar. They both still had friends from their time with the Shrikes, so he heard Jake in the background of a phone call sometimes, pretended not to notice when he was in a picture with the others, and tried very hard to ignore the fact that he and Phoenix were stationed at the same base these days. He was always there in Bradley’s line of sight, but always out of his reach.
There were parties and meet-ups organised over group chats that Bradley tried not to get weird about. He’d tried not to equate it to being on speaking terms again, willed himself not to act over-friendly and over-eager. When the meet-ups did eventually happen – rare as they were – Bradley tried not to be too surprised by the cold shoulder he’d gotten.
After a while though, that hostility abated. Bradley had feared that when it did, it would give way to indifference. The relief he’d felt when he realised that that wasn’t the case seemed to release the vice grip that had slowly been tightening in his ribcage.
The olive branches were small; Jake would react to Bradley’s messages in those same group chats that had felt so much like minefields before, he wouldn’t completely ignore him if they happened to be at the same event, he’d even chime in wide a snide comment occasionally if he was around for Bradley’s regular calls with Nat.
They weren’t friends, they weren’t anywhere close, really. But it felt like they were on track again.
And then Bradley got Jake’s message in the middle of the night.
It was a cold reminder of just how far apart they’d drifted. Just how little they really knew of each other now.
Bradley hadn’t known Jake was seeing anyone. Why would he? They didn’t talk. He didn’t know anything about who he was marrying, or when they’d gotten engaged, how they’d met. It was none of Bradley’s business and it hurt. The fact that Jake had moved on, that he was happy, that he was oblivious to Bradley’s soul-wrenching, gut-clenching, spine-crushing ache for him felt like a knife in his chest.
In theory, Jake couldn't have known about the candle (forest fire, really) Bradley still held for him. The last time they’d spoken, Bradley had told him he wanted to be friends . But if he did know, how could he send such an invite? It was cruel in a way that Jake just wasn't . Sure, he was an asshole; he didn't concern himself with mincing words or playing nice, he genuinely believed that he was better than most people at most things, he flew missions as if he didn’t care who he left in his jet wash. But he wasn't cruel.
Bradley stared at his phone where it sat on the side table for what felt like an eternity, wary – like it was an unexploded bomb.
Jake’s words played over and over in his mind.
“I miss you”
Every time Bradley managed to convince himself it meant something he remembered that he'd said it in a wedding invitation .
An invitation he still hadn’t replied to.
He couldn't reply.
Bradley just couldn't do it. Not when he still felt so much for Jake. He couldn’t go and watch Jake marry someone else. He couldn’t sit there and pretend to be happy for him when all he’d want to do was beg Jake for another chance. Bradley knew he wouldn't survive it.
It wouldn’t be fair to Jake, nor to the person he was marrying, for Bradley to respond.
He wasn’t convinced he could make himself respond in a way that didn’t immediately give away every selfish and ugly feeling that was fizzing to the surface. Just reading the message had flayed him open, exposed his raw nerves, picked at his unhealed scars. He wanted to know the why of it all.
Why, if Jake truly wanted to invite him, did he get a clumsy message only a month before the wedding? Why did he get an invite at all?
Why did Jake invite him in the middle of the night?
Bradley supposed he’d never know.