The Hard Deck is packed, not unlike any other night, but tonight the air is electric. Whoops and hollers bounce off the walls, mixing with the music, men and women shouting to one another. You smile, basking in the warmth of the room as you push past bodies towards the mass of khaki uniforms in the familiar back corner of the bar.
Natasha's eyes light up as you emerge from the crowd, her smile stretching from one ear to the other. She drops the pool cue in her hand and throws her hands in the air, running to you. It's a warm embrace, the scent of her floral perfume swirling around you. You missed her. You missed this, of all things, being in this bar surrounded by khaki uniforms and classic rock music. The rest of the guys – Payback, Fanboy, and Bob – swarm you next, pulling you in and out of hugs. You're happy to see them, happy the mission was a success; that it brought them all back home.
Someone hands you a beer and you smile, tapping your bottle against theirs. A hand snakes around your waist, tugging you in for a hug before you have a chance to knock bottles with the rest of the team. Laughing, you breathe in the scent of Bradley's familiar cologne. He's solid beneath you, his arms squeezing you tightly, your breath catching in your throat as you try to exclaim.
He releases you after a moment and you finally get a chance to take him in. He looks the same: it had only been two weeks since you saw him – any of them. He looks refreshed, happy to be here, happy to have the pressure of the mission lifted from his shoulders. Smiling, he taps his beer bottle to yours and you both take a drink, your eyes holding one another's gaze.
"I told you I'd see you here," you say, swallowing your mouthful of beer. "I'm glad you're back."
"It's good to be back," he sighs.
You thought that maybe seeing him here tonight might be too much, even though the last time you spoke was entirely amicable. You love him. He loves you. That would be a constant for you. It just can't be. It won't be, and that's okay. Being here with him now, seeing him again, is just the same as seeing Natasha and the rest of the pilots: you're simply happy they're safe. Besides, it's not Bradley you left on bad terms with. It's not your conversation with him a couple of weeks ago that haunts you.
"Bradshaw!" an older man sitting at the bar shouts. Bradley tears his gaze from you to nod at the man, laughing as he waves him over. "Come here, I've been telling Penny all about you." Bradley shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders, placing his hand on the small of his back to pass by you.
"Good to see you, Bradley" you whisper as he moves through the crowd. You watch him as he moves between the bodies of the room and you scan the faces of each person he passes, your subconscious searching for the one person you've yet to find. Blonde hair. Piercing green eyes. That cocky, lop-sided, Ken doll smile. Any piece of him.
Sighing, you return to the group, your heart settling itself into its familiar home somewhere between your chest and your stomach. You hoped you'd find him here tonight: it was part of the reason you came at all. You wanted to apologize, to explain that what you did – leaving him that night – was wrong. To tell him that every moment you were apart, he consumed your every waking thought. You felt awful, leaving him like that before the biggest mission of his career and it killed you not knowing how he felt. It was, perhaps, your biggest regret. But, he clearly didn't want to see you; not now and not then.
"Jake, come on," you beg, banging your open palm against his bedroom door. "Open the door. Please."
The silence is deafening as it consumes you, swallowing you from all sides. There's not even a rustle of movement behind the door and somehow, that's worse than anything. It hurts more knowing he was already so set in his decision against you. Knowing that you'd fucked up everything in a matter of minutes, all because you'd been so desperate to see Bradley. If there was an inkling that Jake might still be deciding, that he was still making up his mind – the soft echo of footsteps as he paced the floor of his room or the jostle of the door handle – you could cling onto some sort of hope he might forgive you. But it's just silent.
It'd been hours since you left him. You lost track of time with Bradley, a habit you never really kicked. When you left the air hangar, you searched everywhere: The Hard Deck, the common room, the beach, but he was nowhere to be found. It didn't help that he apparently hadn't told anyone where he'd gone, Omaha and Coyote could only shrug their shoulders and offer blank stares when you asked them. It was hopeless, so you returned to the last place he might be, but now the idea he'd holed up in his room feels foolish.
Steadying yourself, you wrap one hand around the door handle and push down, your heart thumping roughly against your ribcage as the cool metal clicks, the door opening.
"Jake?" you ask, stepping through the frame. You half expect to see him curled up in his bed, his back turned to you, but the bed is empty, still unmade. You spin around, your eyes catching every detail of the room: the photos of him and his family on the dresser, his sunglasses on the desk, and his sweatshirt draped over the edge of bed. You step towards it and run your fingers across the material, smiling at the memory.
"So now do I get to turn you in for trespassing?"
You jump at the sound of his voice, strained as he catches his breath. He doesn't wait for you to turn around, moving into the room with a seemingly unaffected confidence. Brushing your arm, he moves towards the dresser in front of you, tugging a drawer open. Your breath catches at the sight of him and you swallow hard, suppressing the desire bubbling inside at the vision of him shirtless, a pair of dark gray running shorts hung low on his hips.
"The door was unlocked," you reason, taking a step towards him. "I was looking for you."
He nods slowly, pulling a shirt out from the drawer and slipping it on in the same second. He turns to face you now, leaning against the dresser, his arms crossed.
"I was out for a run."
"You went for a run in the middle of the night?"
"I needed to clear my head," he asserts. His words are short, his tone sharp, just as yours were to him mere hours ago.
"Look, Jake, I'm sorry, I-"
"Hey, I get it. You're right. It was a good night."
"Wait, Jake, no," you stammer, closing the space between you in one last step. Your hand brushes his arm, practically begging him to relax, to undo his arms and take you into them. You knew he had something he wanted to say to you and you needed to know, even if you had to physically pry it out of him. Or, perhaps after you abandoned him, that desire to share his feelings with you vanished into thin air. You look up at him, scanning his face for something you could decode, but he's unreadable. His eyes avoid yours, looking past you rather than at you, his bottom lip curled up into an expressionless line.
"Can't we talk about this?"
"I don't know what else there is to talk about," he sighs, shaking his head. "You're the one who said it. You're the one who left me tonight to go see your ex!"
You open your mouth to argue, but stop yourself. He's right. You'd done those things and you did them without a second thought about how they'd make Jake feel. You owe it to him to hear him out, to give him space to breathe, to think it over and figure out how he feels. He'd given you that, even if it wasn't his choice.
Jake groans, uncrossing his arms to rake a hand through his hair roughly, ruffling the soft blonde strands. Drifting from the dresser to the bed, pushing past you, he heaves a rather heavy sigh, his eyes finally landing on you. That familiar thread wraps itself around your heart and pulls gently, encouraging you to follow suit and plop down onto the bed next to him, but you ignore it, knowing Jake deserves his space. It's not the time for selfishness.
"Look, for what it's worth, I'm sorry. And I'm glad you came back. I don't know what happened between you and Bradley tonight and I don't want to." He drops his head, his hands clasped together loosely between his knees. You watch as his thumb rubs small circles into his skin, working to soothe himself. He takes another breath. "But I think we should leave it. At least for now. I-I can't be a second choice."
No, no. He's not the second choice, he never has been. A heaviness settles in your chest knowing what you've made him feel. You suck in a breath.
"Jake, I-" you start, taking a step towards him.
"Plus, with the mission coming so soon, I can't..." he looks back up at you, his green eyes surrounded with red; you're not sure if it's exhaustion, stress, or tears. "I can't do this. We have to be so focused right now and I just-"
You shake your head, lifting your gaze from him to the ceiling. It's suddenly no different than before. The pilot doesn't matter, nor does the timing or the connection or the feelings. It's all the same. Sniffling, you just nod, choking back tears. He's cleared his head. He'd come clean.
"If that's what you want, Jake."
There's not much you remember after that. The sting of the conversation, the chill of his words and his nonchalance numbed you from the inside out. The gap in your memory from your last words to your departure the following morning haunts you, even still. It's probably for the best that you don't remember, though, Natasha's retelling of that night doesn't paint a pretty picture. Despite your leaving the day before their mission, you secretly hoped Jake might change his mind, that he might try to come find you, but he didn't. You couldn't blame him; it would be selfish of you to ask that of him or even assume it to be possible. But still, there persists that part of you that just wishes to be chosen, fervently, in spite of the uncertainty of life, no matter how unrealistic that fantasy might be.
"Hey, are you okay?" Natasha asks, leaning in, her lips near your ear. You turn to her, emerging from your head back into the room. Nodding, you smile, pushing the last memory of Jake from your mind.
"Of course, I'm great." you mumble.
Natasha glances around the room then back to you. "You're still a shit liar, you know that, right?" She has a way of seeing right through you. It's a blessing and a curse. Setting down your beer on the edge of the pool table, you sigh.
"I just hoped that maybe Jake would be here."
"Yeah," she sighs, "me too."
Your brow furrows and you look at her, a question in your gaze, hoping she'll continue to explain herself. She shrugs and takes another drink of beer.
"Tash, do you know something I don't?"
She hums, shaking her head. "If I knew where he was I'd tell you." Holding up her right hand, she crosses it over her heart, "scouts honor."
"I'm going to choose to believe you," you smile.
"Even if he was here," she starts, "do you think you could handle seeing him again?"
You shrug your shoulders, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as you consider her question.
"I don't think I could handle not seeing him again," you say. "There's already too much left unsaid, you know?"
Natasha just nods, her hand instinctively moving to your hair, tucking a stray piece back behind your ear as she combs through the strands with her fingertips. It's the same motion she repeated over and over in an attempt to comfort you the night Jake called things off while you laid sniffling in her lap late into the night.
"He hates me," you cry, tucking your head farther into your sweatshirt. Ironically, it's the one Bradley left you with, yet the familiar scent of his cologne doesn't work its usual magic in calming you down.
Natasha clicks her tongue, running her fingers through the ends of your hair with one hand, the other passing you tissues as you need, your near constant flow of tears disintegrating the soft paper in seconds.
"He doesn't hate you."
You lift your head from her lap and she smiles softly at you, apprehension in her eyes as she takes you in – a snively, red-nosed, teary-eyed mess. You dab the tears at your eyes with the sleeve of Bradley's sweatshirt and take a deep breath, filling your lungs with air. You feel awful to burden Natasha with this, especially when she's exhausted, but she refused to let you drive home. Apparently this was the most "together" you'd been in hours. The only thing you remembered was rushing to the bathroom after leaving Jake and sliding to the floor, praying there was no one else around to hear your sobs. When Natasha found you an hour later, you'd assumed full-fetal position: not your proudest moment, but definitely your most dramatic. You'd never been one to handle rejection well and something about it coming from Jake – after your heart had chosen him – was a deeper cut than you could've imagined. It seems as though no matter who you choose, you weren't chosen in return. There was always something in your way.
"I left him for Bradley, of course he hates me. Or, he thinks I hate him, which is worse. H-he thinks he's my second choice or that we won't survive the mission and I didn't even get to say –"
"Hey," Natasha coos, taking your hand between hers. Her skin is warm and soft, reassuring. "He just needs a second to think is all, give him some time. He'll come around."
"I don't think so Tash," you say, wiping your nose on yet another tissue. Your eyes connect with hers as you sigh. "I fucked up."
"We all fuck up, it's a part of life." She releases your hand and exhales a gentle breath, "so we have to learn to give ourselves some grace. It'll be okay. You'll be okay."
"Come on," Natasha nods, smiling to herself as she notices you come back to her and to the present moment. She points at the open pool table across the bar. "Would kicking Bradshaw's ass at pool help distract you?"
"Maybe," you sniffle, knocking hips with her.
The night went better than you expected. Whether it was the continuous flow of beer, the somehow superb shuffle of music coming from the jukebox, or the hilarious retellings of the same stories from each pilot's point of view, you weren't sure, but they all mixed together to help mend your broken heart and easily distracted mind.
On the drive back home, you only thought about Jake once, maybe twice. When Bradley sang his praises earlier in the evening, raising a glass to him for saving his and Maverick's lives on their most recent mission, crediting him with a second air combat kill, you could basically see him before you, his smug smile prominent. He'd run his tongue along his perfectly white teeth and wink, shrugging his shoulders as if it wasn't his proudest accomplishment, but something he did on the regular. A month ago, that smile would've sent your eyes rolling, but tonight, your heart yearns to witness it even just one more time. Your heart aches at the notion that you weren't able to congratulate him. It seemed unlike him to miss a night like this and especially a chance to gloat in front of his friends, but you pushed the questions aside, choosing to focus on the moment happening before you instead.
When you arrive home, you send a message off to Natasha, assuring her that you'd made it home safely and thanking her for the night out. It's much quieter here, in your small seaside neighborhood than on-base. On most nights, you're grateful for the silence and the gentle chorus of crickets in the distance, but tonight it does anything but comfort you. It's easier for your mind to wander here in the silence. Brushing thoughts of Jake aside, you trot up to the front door and unlock it, slipping through the door frame and tucking out of your shoes and jacket with ease.
Sighing, you flick on the lights and head towards the kitchen, hoping a glass of water might help cure the alcohol-induced headache beginning to knock at the base of your skull.
Your phone buzzes in the back pocket of your jeans, startling you. Assuming it's Natasha reacting to your last message with some kind of emoticon, you fish it from your pocket and flick open the messages. Your heart lifts at the sight of Bradley's contact photo at the top of the screen.
Bradley: Hey! Just checking in. Are you okay?
Exhaling a sharp breath, you look between the message and the floor, unsure of what he means. You type a message back quickly, working to reassure him. Though, you're not sure what kind of answer he's looking for; or why he's asking.
You: Yeah, I'm fine!
Bradley: Well, that was super convincing.
You didn't think anyone else other than Natasha picked up on your mood tonight. In hindsight, it was foolish to assume Bradley – of all people – wouldn't notice. After all, he was the only other person who knew about your feelings for Jake, even if you never told him directly.
You: What can I do to convince you?
Bradley: You just didn't seem quite yourself tonight – you didn't even gloat when you beat me at pool.
You: That's because I felt bad for you!
Bradley: I just want to make sure you're okay, is all...with everything that's happened.
A tinge of pain strikes your chest followed closely by a swell of emotion soothing it over. Whether he knew what happened between you and Jake or not, it's nice to know he cares for you. And you're not lying, you really are okay. You tap your way across the screen, halfway through composing your next message when the chime of the doorbell echoes through the house, capturing your attention.
You glance up at the time on the microwave, it's nearly midnight. Your doorbell almost never rings; if it does, you rarely answer, choosing to stand behind the door instead, watching intently through the peep-hole until the visitor finally gives in and walks away. Something about tonight feels different, though, your heart racing in anticipation rather than your usual Pavlovian response of fear or annoyance at the sound.
Pushing yourself off the counter, you continue typing as you make your way towards the front door.
You: Wait...where are you right now?
It's stupid to assume it might be Bradley behind the door, but somehow, it wouldn't surprise you. He'd often show up unannounced when you were together with either a bottle of wine or take-out from your favorite restaurant he picked up after a full day of training. It was his favorite way to apologize for not being around and it was your favorite way to see him: Rosé in one hand, California Rolls in the other, topped off with a playful smile and deep brown, apologetic eyes.
Sighing, you traipse into the entryway and unlock the door, not bothering to spy through the peep-hole. You check your phone one last time, worried you might have missed a notification, but there's still nothing back from Bradley.
You tug the door open, your eyes landing on a familiar, tall figure. The full image of him comes into view as your eyes adjust to the darkness, but it doesn't take long for you to recognize the silhouette: the one you hadn't been able to shake from your mind for the past month. His cutting jawline is on display for you as he lifts his chin from the ground up to you, his green eyes connecting with yours as he sucks in a breath.
"Jake?" you ask, breathless.
His face brightens under the gentle glow of your porch light at the sound of your voice, his lips lifting into that heart stopping smile.
"Hey," he whispers.