FLYBY (b. bradshaw)

𝙀𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏𝙀𝙀𝙉

Lilah found herself with her toes in the sand about 30 minutes into the reception. Within the first five minutes, she'd heard too many condolences and had been given too many hugs by people she'd never met. She held an empty tequila bottle in one hand and her swinging her grandfather's dog tags in another. 

"You'd marry tequila if you could, wouldn't ya, Captain Hollis?" 

Normally, the voice would've made her roll her eyes, but in that moment she'd never been more thankful when Jake Seresin sat beside her. Lilah clasped the dog tags tightly into her hand, welcoming the metal that was digging into her palm. "It's my only love, Lieutenant Seresin." She pointed to the two shot glasses he held. "Those for me?"

He nodded, handing her one. "If someone had told me a week ago that I'd been getting drunk at a funeral with the girl that broke my nose, I would've fallen out of my chair."  

Lilah shot the liquid, not even fazed by the burning. "In my defensive, you did call me a stripper." 

"With the way you were swinging your hips, it sure looked like it." Hangman pointed out, bumping shoulder's with her. "That was before I knew who you were." 

Lilah's vision blurred, her jaw tightening as a reflex to stop the tears. "Today's sucked, Seresin." 

"I know, Hollis, I know." he muttered lightly, examining her fallen expression. The last thing he wanted to do was make her cry again. "Do you want me to get Bradley?"

She was startled to hear kindness in his tone as he uttered the man's first name, as opposed to the usual starkness and sneers. 

"I've already covered the shoulder of his shirt in mascara, and now I've ditched him to mingle while I get drunk with my grandfather's old pilot friends and his rival because spending another minute inside will result in me imploding." Lilah told the man beside her. "I don't think that he'd approve." 

Hangman chuckled. "Sounds like you're trying to get him a new girlfriend or some shit." 

She punched him in the arm, though it didn't do anything. "You know what I meant."

Jake handed Lilah the other shot. "My shoulder's free to cry on, if you'd like. Well, as long as you don't use that shit Trace uses. Let that motherfucker cry on your shoulder once during a funeral, and you have a big ass black stain on white shirt." 

Lilah couldn't help but giggle as she did rest of head on his shoulder. "Is this how you get all of your girls, let them cry on your shoulder?"

"I am not this casanova you all think I am." Hangman said, shaking his head. "Damn, call a girl a stripper once and you can't catch a break." 

Lilah giggled again, the alcohol in her system making everything a bit lighter. "Lighten up a little, Jakie, it's a funeral." 

Hangman pulled the still full shot glass out of Lilah's hand. "I'm cutting you off, I don't think your grandmother would appreciate you being drunk."

He stood up and helped Lilah to her feet. She stumbled slightly and he gripped onto her shoulder to steady her. 

"Bradshaw's gonna kill me." she heard him mutter as he picked up her heels from the sand. "Let's get you sobered up." 

He lead her towards the house, making her walk on her own. 

"Such a gentleman, helping me back to the house." Lilah stumbled over her words, scrunched her nose up. "And people say nice guys are dead." 

"I did get you drunk first, so I am definitely not being the 'nice guy'." Hangman pointed out, shoving her into a lawn chair. "How much did you have to drink?"