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Maverick stood in front of a monitor that displayed a flight simulation. "Phase one of the mission will be a low-level attack. You'll be flying along the narrow canyon walls to the target. The surface-to-air missiles defend the skies above, not the canyon below."
"That's because no one is insane enough to fly below," Rooster admitted.
"That's exactly what I'm going to train you to do." Maverick described the low altitudes and high speeds the pilots would be flying for today's simulation. It was an improvement from the actual altitude and speed required for the mission, but it still felt like a punch in the gut to the aviators. No pilot had ever flown a mission like this before, not even Maverick. Was this a mission they could even come back from?
"Time to target is two and a half minutes." That was the second punch of the day. "Fifth-generation fighter jets wait at a base nearby. You need to get in, and you need to get out. This makes time your greatest adversary."
Needless to say, no one excelled in this phase of the training. After the final rounds of team trials, the group of aviators shared a collective expression of defeat. Maverick prodded them for reasons behind their mistakes, yet none were to his satisfaction nor would they be to the families of the pilots.
Rooster's mind was spinning out of control like a plane experiencing engine failure. He struggled to focus on Maverick's criticisms as his thoughts raced of Emerson. She was the closest person he had to family. If he flew this mission and she didn't, what would the Navy tell her if he didn't come home? Would she mourn him or move on? Could she stop flying? Then, he thought if the roles were reversed. How would he react to the news of Emerson's death? The loud sobs of his mother echoed in his mind as he thought about the day his mother learned Goose was dead.
"What happened?" Maverick questioned Hangman.
A prideful smirk evident on his face, "I flew as fast as I could. Kind of like my life depended on it."
"Yeah, and you put your team in danger, and now your wingman is dead," Rooster criticized.
"They couldn't keep up."
"Glad to know we can count on you, Hangman," Emerson stated sarcastically.
Maverick turned his attention to Rooster, "Why are you dead?"
"Sir, he's the only one who made it to the target," Emerson declared.
"Was I asking, Raven? He was late which gave time for enemy aircraft to shoot him down."
"You don't know that," Rooster argued.
Hangman sighed, "You're not flying fast enough."
"We made it to the target."
"And the enemy intercepted you on your way out," Maverick countered.
The air in the room was growing thick with tension. The other pilots shifted in their seats uncomfortably as Rooster and Maverick disagreed about the mission. "It's not the plane, sir. It's the pilot."
"Exactly!" Maverick shouted. Their fight only further proved to Maverick that Rooster was not mission-ready nor willing to accept what Maverick had to teach him.
"There's more than one way to fly this mission," Bradley finished.
"You don't get it. A man's either got to fly like Maverick or a man doesn't come back," Hangman turned towards Raven and Phoenix, "No offense."
"And yet, you always manage," Bob replied on behalf of the two women and Raven high-fived him.
"We're going into combat, on a level no living pilot has ever seen," Hangman faced Maverick now, "Not even him. Now's not the time to be thinking about the past."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Bradley demanded.
"I can't be the only one who knows Maverick used to fly with his old man and that it was Maverick flying when—" Rooster sprang from his seat, "You son of a bitch!" The rest of the pilots darted to opposite sides, attempting to restrain the two men.
Hangman brushed off the hands of his fellow pilots, "I'm cool."
Bradley fumed beside Emerson. His body trembled with anger as his hands were clenched into rageful fists. Yet, he remained in his spot next to Emerson, not taking any further action against Hangman.
Emerson stood in front of the arrogant pilot, "One day you'll get what's coming to you, Hangman."
He grinned, not affected by her threat. "But not today," he mimicked Emerson's words from the Hard Deck.
Emerson was fed up with Hangman's constant disrespect towards the ones she cared about and herself; he deserved a serious ego check. The other pilots had clean records to uphold, but Emerson's record was littered with insubordination and unsanctioned flybys; she could afford another violation. So, for the third, and final punch of the day, Emerson Raye Blackwood swung at Jake Seresin's face.
"That's enough! You're all dismissed!" Maverick shouted in disappointment. Hangman and the others left the room.
Bradley reached for Emerson's still curled up fist. Bruises began to form along her knuckles as he inspected her hand. "Let's take care of this." He led them to the room the pilots waited in during team training exercises. He grabbed a towel from the kitchenette and placed several ice cubes on it. He wrapped it up and placed it on her hand.
"Thanks."
Bradley observed Emerson's features. Her brows were still knit together with anger. Her chest rose and fell at a quicker pace as she tried to calm down from the prior escalation. Bradley wasn't angry at Hangman anymore; he was more concerned about the woman in front of him. "I know why you did it. I'm not saying you should have, but I know why," he spoke in reference to Emerson's record.
"He's a dick. You're my friend. You didn't deserve it, but he did. Besides flying like that will get a team killed."
Bradley smiled at her odd form of compassion, "That's saying something coming from you. You're the most dangerous pilot here."
Emerson met his gaze, "I know, but I'm not stupid. I'm only willing to put myself in danger."
⎯
The next day, Maverick requested that Rooster and Raven arrive early to training. The two walked into the room Maverick asked to meet them in. "What is this?" Hangman questioned their presence.
Emerson saw Hangman in the corner as she entered the room. There was a bruise forming along his jawline. Though she was proud to be the reason for his bruise, she still had no interest in being in the same room as him. "Sir, respectfully, no. I'm out of here."
Maverick grabbed the arm of the fleeing woman, "Nope, nope. Everybody is going to stay right here and work this out as a team. Raven, apologize to Hangman for punching him yesterday."
She scoffed, "Are you fucking kidding me? After what he said, I ought to—"
"Raven," Maverick interjected.
She threw her arms up in surrender, "Fine! Hangman, I am so sorry that your face got in the way of my fist."
Rooster snickered, but he quickly straightened up after a frightening glare from Maverick. "Raven."
She groaned. "Jake Seresin, I am so humbly sorry that I punched you," she said, adding a bow for dramatic effect.
"Now, you're just acting like a child," Maverick noted. Though, it was Emerson who felt like Maverick was the one treating them like children.
"Listen, that's about the best you're going to get from me, sir."
He released an exasperated sigh but decided it was best to move on. "Hangman, apologize to Rooster for your comments about his father."
"I'm sorry, Bradshaw."
Rooster nodded his head in recognition of the man's apology. Emerson couldn't determine whether the pilot was sincere.
"See, now that wasn't so bad. This is good team building."
"Oh please, cut the bullshit, Mav." Emerson started for the door.
"Fine. You don't like this method? Let's try something else. Gather everyone. We're headed to the beach."
⎯
Maverick introduced his group of naval aviators to 'dogfight football'. Was it a real game or something Maverick made up on the spot? Emerson determined that would be one of life's mysteries.
He explained that it was similar to the game of football, except in dogfight football, offense and defense were played simultaneously. They split into two teams. Hangman and Rooster were team captains, each respectively resuming the role of quarterback. Emerson was on Rooster's team.
Dressed in civilian clothes, not prepared for their impromptu beach trip, the group of aviators quickly worked up a sweat. After a few minutes of playing, most articles of clothing were shed. Nearby beachgoers gawked at the men's toned bodies, their sweat glistening in the afternoon sun. Hangman made a point to flex in front of a few women sitting under an umbrella not far from where they played.
Emerson threw his shirt at him, "No one wants to see that, Hangman."
He strolled over to her. His body was so close that Emerson could see each individual bead of sweat that lingered on his shirtless body. "It's okay to stare, Raven. We all know you like what you see."
At her side, a fist began to form, "I punched you once, Seresin. Don't think I won't do it again."
Her comment was loud enough for Bradley to hear, so he rushed over to the two before another fight could break out. "Whoa, easy there, Tiger. Let's not give Mav any more reasons for a team-building exercise." His sweaty arms enveloped her own, restraining her from doing any more damage to Hangman's face. She dragged her feet in the sand as he practically towed her away. "This is just embarrassing," she remarked.
The teams had been playing for a while now, and if they were being honest, both had lost track of the score. Bradley had the ball. Coyote and Omaha rushed towards him; Bradley had to think fast, or the play would result in a sack. Feeling like Tom Brady, Bradley threw the ball in the direction of Emerson. She was open, but Fanboy and Payback were hot on her tail.
Inbound to Raven's position, Fanboy faceplanted in the sand. Stepping on his back and launching off, Emerson jumped over the hunched position of Payback and reached into the air for the football like she was a professional wide receiver. Sticking the landing in the hot sand, she cheered with joy.
Her teammates rushed to their victor, applauding her skill. Bradley watched from his spot. Emerson had the biggest smile plastered on her face; it shined brighter than the sun. He was in love with the radiant glow it brought to her. No, he was in love with her. How did he, Bradley Bradshaw, get lucky enough to have someone like Emerson Blackwood in his life?
Bradley approached his team. He snaked his arms around Emerson's waist and picked her up in a hug as she threw her arms around his neck. "That's my girl," he said just loud enough for her to hear.
The group spent the rest of their day at the beach after deciding they all deserved a break from their strenuous training.
As the sun set below the horizon, everyone packed up their belongings and headed their separate ways. Emerson stuck her hand out to Bradley, "You coming home with me tonight, Lieutenant?"
⎯
Emerson's back was pressed firmly against her front door. Bradley's lips hungrily explored every inch of exposed skin. Emerson moaned under his touch, "Br-Brad-Bradley, I got to get the key in the door first, babe."
He allowed her to turn around, but his hands continued to roam her body while his lips sucked on the sensitive skin of her neck which he was sure would leave a mark by morning. "God, you're killing me, Em."
They were finally inside; Bradley's eyes filled with desire. Picking her up, she wrapped her legs around his sturdy waist. He carried them to the bedroom, his lips never once leaving hers.
"What is with you, Bradley?" She asked as he laid her down. His lips trailed down her stomach while his fingers fiddled with the waistband of her jeans. It wasn't in a complaining tone; Emerson was just curious about his newfound drive.
He stopped and surveyed the woman below him. Emerson's chest rose and fell to the same rhythm as his own heartbeat. Beneath her long lashes, were emerald eyes littered with specks of gold. Her thick, blonde curls were sprawled across the bed and her face held a dopey grin. Bradley Bradshaw was absolutely, utterly in love with her. He wanted, needed, to admit the truth, but how could he? Soon, the two would head out on a mission with no guarantee of their return. And even if they did return, what would come next for the two? Another deployment void of each other? "I just thought you might want to celebrate the win."
Emerson sat up, "Well as much as I do certainly enjoy this type of celebration, I would much rather prefer a shower."
He sat on her bed as she headed to her bathroom. She stopped in the doorway and turned to face him, "That doesn't mean you can't join me."
The biggest smile spread across Bradley's face. Yes, he was absolutely in love with this woman. He stood up and chased after her.
Later that night, after their shower, Bradley laid with his arm around a sleeping Emerson, wide awake. He was restless thinking about his earlier revelation. Quietly, he snuck out of her bedroom and grabbed the keys to his Bronco.
The route to the cemetery was muscle memory at this point in his life. He had spent so many days there that he could probably make the drive with his eyes shut. Parking his Bronco, his feet involuntarily guided him to a small, simple headstone. In front of him, it read, "Nick 'Goose' Bradshaw. Lieutenant and Beloved Father".
Bradley stared at the headstone, "Talk to me, Dad." He paused attempting to collect his thoughts. "Hey Dad, there's that girl I've told you about, Emmie. I realized today that I'm in love with her. It felt like something you should know. I think I've always been in love with her, though. I was just too slow to realize it." Tears brimmed in his eyes now. "God, I just wish you were here, Dad. I wish I could ask you how you and Mom did it. How you knew she was the one."
⏐𝗥𝗢𝗦𝗜𝗘 𝗦𝗣𝗘𝗔𝗞𝗦!
including this for all my thirsty babes ;)
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