The Rooster and The Wolf | Bradley 'ROOSTER' Bradshaw

EIGHT

You lowered yourself to the ground, opting to sit in silence next to him, waiting for him to wear himself out. 

Not a few moments later, Rooster stopped, having finally exhausted the last of his anger out, and sat up, crossing his legs to sit across from you. 

You hadn't spoken to him for over a week, and man, was it awkward.

"Mind telling me what that was about today?" you broke the silence, your voice low.

"You talking to me now?" he scoffed, and you sighed, mumbling forget it as you went to stand up, until he grabbed your hand, "Wait, I'm sorry, please- please don't go." he sighed, closing his eyes as you settled back next to him.

"What the hell is going on with you, Bradshaw?" you said, with genuine concern written all over your face.

"I just...I don't know. You, Mav, I hate being here with him. I'm constantly reminded of what he did, of what he thinks of me and it pisses me off."

"Don't you think it's time to let bygones be bygones? Don't you think it's time we all stop hurting?"

"He set me back four years, (Y/N). He tried to stop my career before it even started." he said, anger seeping from him once more.

"Right, I get that. I told you I understood six years ago. But you're not the only one who got fucked over, Bradley. He interfered in my career too."

"What?" he said, shocked.

"Cyclone just told me that I'd have been mission leader had I not been grounded. I'm a fucking great pilot, Bradley, I have the most confirmed kills in active duty, and he still grounded me. Why do you think I'm an instructor?" you laughed dryly. 

You loved it, really. 

But it was nothing compared to the rush of tumbling through the air, free as a bird.

"Why'd he do that?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"About three years ago, I got assigned to a mission in the Middle East, and I..." you trailed off, a lump forming in your throat at the memory, but Rooster urged you to go on, "I almost didn't make it back. That was all it took for my wings to be clipped."

You lay there, alone, in a hospital bed in some medical centre out in the Middle East, twiddling your thumbs. 

Every time you tried to move, the searing pain in your right side made you fall backwards, breathing through gritted teeth. 

Pushing the gross, sloppy hospital food around the plate in front of you, you watched the silhouettes of people rush by the room, hoping - praying - that someone would come in and entertain you.

As if God himself had listened, voices stopped outside your door, and you pushed yourself to sit up in excitement, until that voice got louder, and sounded all too familiar-

"Oh my god," Maverick burst into the room, and seeing you all bruised, bloodied, and bandaged, was too much for his heart and tears welled in his eyes. "I knew this would happen, I told you!" he yelled.

"Daddy please I'm okay-"

"No! Look at you, you almost died. You're done. It's done." he said, looking at you with an expression you couldn't read. 

Your face paled, and nervousness set in.

"W-what's done? What does that mean?"