“Could I get another?” Rooster lifted the nearly empty bottle to get the bartender’s attention before putting it to his lips to swallow down the last mouthful. The bartender eyed the four empty bottles in front of him but still wordlessly placed a fresh Yuengling on the bar.
“Rooster.” Hangman’s obnoxious texan drawl cut through the otherwise quiet bar as the blond slid onto a stool to his left.
Was nothing sacred? He picked this bar for the sheer fact it was nearly two hours from Miramar and he thought no one he knew would find him here.
How Jake even found him he didn't want to know. He just wanted to wallow in misery by himself.
And why shouldn’t he?
His ex-fiance was having a baby with one of his best friends. His ex-girlfriend assaulted said ex-fiance and not only sent her into labor but cardiac arrest as well. So now the lives of Zak and her baby were at risk and while it wasn’t technically his fault he felt like it was. Lydia had followed him to the Hard Deck after all. And angel that she was, Zak forgave the intrusion and invited her to stay for her baby shower.
"Buzz off, Bagman."
“You weren’t answering your phone and we thought you’d like to know Zak’s out of surgery. She and the baby are okay. It’s a boy.”
“So what? You tracked my location via find my friends and drove out to the middle of butt-fuck no where jus’ to tell me that?”
“I resent that statement.” Hangman flagged down the bartender and ordered a Guinness for himself. “I’m worried about you. You haven’t been yourself since Water Works went sideways.”
Rooster sighed and took a long drink from his beer, all but slamming the bottle down. Hangman was right.
Sure, they’d all come back in one piece. But the ship was temporarily compromised and they had to fly to the nearest base instead. His landing gears malfunctioned. His life flashed before his eyes. He punched out seconds from burning in. He didn’t remember hitting his head.
And then he’d slept most of the carrier ride back to Miramar. Which he definitely should not have done with a concussion.
Physically, he felt fine. Fit as a fiddle. Healthier than a horse.
He remembered he was a naval aviator and how to fly. He remembered making up with Maverick. He even remembered putting up with Hangman long enough to actually sort of become friends.
But coming out of the emergency room and seeing Zak in the waiting area… It was like his brain short circuited.
And at that moment?
He remembered loving her. Their shitty apartment in DC. Asking her to marry him on their couch when she had the flu. Talking about the house she wanted to build them. What they would name their kids and if they should get a dog or a cat or one of each.
And having to be told that they weren’t together and hadn’t been for a long time and that the baby wasn’t his and he broke her heart in more ways than one… a kick in the nads would hurt less.
They’d been so good together until he let himself get in his way.
His mom used to say he was his own biggest obstacle. Too stubborn to see there were just some things out of his control. His dad’s death. Mom’s cancer. Mav pulling his papers. Zak’s accident and miscarriage.
And how was Bob of all fucking people getting everything Rooster wanted? The girl. The house. The kid. There wasn't a nicer person on earth, either.
He wasn't angry with Bob. The WSO was the closest thing to a younger brother he'd ever had.
He was just… mad at life. At the universe. And mostly at himself.
“M’fine.” Rooster insisted.
“You look like shit.” Hangman told him.
“I’ll have you know,” He slurred, pausing to hiccup, “I’m… I’m fuckin’ happier than ever, man.”
“Sure you are.” He sighed and took a sip of his Guinness, “Tell ya what. We’re gonna sit here till you finish that beer. We can talk or not, that’s up to you. Then I’m driving you home and you’re gonna drink a gallon of gatorade and sleep off what might be the worst hangover of your life.”
Rooster grunted in reply and swiveled his stool around so Hangman had to stare at his back while he sipped morosely on his beer.
He should be relieved that Zak was okay. But mourning sounded easier. As if he hadn’t been mourning their relationship and all that could have been for years.
And it made him feel like an asshole.
Lydia deserved better. Even if she was the worst person he’d ever dated.
He had tried to convince himself otherwise but… she was mean spirited and childish and he found himself embarrassed to be with her in public.
-&-
Hangman was wrong. It wasn’t the worst hangover of his life. Obviously there were no good hangovers. But the pounding headache and twisted stomach and dry mouth were manageable.
The worst was after his mom’s funeral. Maverick, Iceman, and Slider were there. Along with his Aunt Stacey and cousin Morgan, and a bunch of his mom’s friends and old co-workers. Aunt Stacey pinched his cheek just like she did when he was five and Morgan mostly ignored him just like always and everyone else just said how sorry they were and how wonderful Carole was and she was gone too soon and what a shame she died so young and wasn’t it just awful?
He downed a shot of tequila for every cheap condolence after the services were finally over and he was alone in the cold, dark, empty house he grew up in. At some point he stopped counting and stopped pouring, drinking straight from the bottle itself.
He felt that hangover for a week and never drank tequila again.
-&-
“Hey.” Bradley said, softly knocking on the door frame, not sure if she was sleeping or not. He wasn’t feeling any better about things. But he needed to see for himself that she was alright. Apologize - again - for everything. Even the things that weren’t technically his fault. The TV was on but muted and she was facing away from him. He felt awkward and unsure of himself. Sure it had been years since he’d seen her in a hospital bed but seeing her now still brought back some unpleasant memories. There were fewer wires coming off her this time, though. That had to be good, right?
Zak looked over and smiled. Clicking off the TV, she waved him over, her smile growing when she saw the bouquet he was trying - and failing - to hide behind his back. She looked… happy. Genuinely so. Tired, sure. But she had a soft glow about her that didn’t come from the bright, white fluorescent lighting.
“Hey yourself. Those flowers better be for me. Bowie’s a little young, don’t you think?”
“Ha ha, very funny.” He snorted and placed the flowers on the rolling bedside table. “Where’s Bob?”
“I sent him home to pick up a change of clothes for both of us and the car seat. Doc said we should get discharged tomorrow.”
“He was hovering, wasn’t he?”
“Maybe a little.”
She couldn’t blame him, though. She must have given him one hell of a scare. She didn’t remember much beyond Lydia giving her a shove at the Hard Deck and passing out on the way to the hospital only to wake up a full day later with her mom at her bedside and an external pacemaker stuck to her chest.
“He told me he proposed. Congratulations. Uh, for that and the squirt.”
“Thank you.” She set the remote aside and picked at a loose stitch in her blanket. Part of her wanted to ask if Lydia was alright - she did hit her pretty hard - but most of her didn’t really care. Lydia was the reason she nearly died and Bowie came six weeks early.
“I know that look.” Bradley sighed, “What’s on your mind?”
“I can’t believe I’m even gonna ask this, but is Lydia okay?”
“Oh.” He sucked in a breath but looked like he was trying to hold in a laugh. “Well. You definitely broke her nose.”
“She sent me into preterm labor and gave me a literal heart attack.” She deadpanned.
“Yeah, I… Yeah. I know.” He ran a hand through his hair, “She probably won’t apologize for shoving a pregnant woman, either. So… I’m really sorry she did that to you. And I know it's not really your problem but I did break up with her.”
“I’m sorry you got put in that position. Choosin’ between your ex and your girlfriend.”
“I mean, that’s not the only reason. She’s, uh.” Childish. Impulsive. Disrespectful. “She’s got a lot of growing up to do.”
“Pick up Bowie?” She gestured to the plastic, hospital issue bassinet a few feet from her bed.
“What?” He looked from the bassinet to Zak and back. He admittedly did not know the first thing about babies. Or holding them. Or holding them and not dropping them. He stepped over to the bassinet and studied the sleeping baby. Bowie was so… small and… squishable.
“Bradley.” She prompted, laughing softly, “Pick up my baby.”
“Okay.”
He hesitated, hands hovering over the sleeping bundle. Lately it seemed he broke everything he touched and he didn’t really trust himself not to break the tiny human. But after a brief moment of staring, he swallowed his anxieties and gently lifted the baby; one hand cradling his head and the other on his bottom. He’d never actually held an infant before and it took him a minute to figure out how to get Bowie nestled in the crook of his arms. Despite his nerves it was actually… kind of nice. Bowie was warm and snuggly and made cute faces in his sleep.
Bradley brought him over to Zak but she shook her head, “No, no. You hold him. Babies just get it, Bradshaw. Hold him for a while and you’ll feel better.”
“Y’know, kid,” Bradley said to Bowie, “I hope you don’t get your mom’s stubbornness. ‘Cause she’s a real pain in my ass.”
“Language.”
“If his first word is ‘ass’ instead of ‘mama’ or ‘dada’ I’ll owe you twenty bucks.”
“Do not swear in front of my child.”
“Aw, c’mon. You and I both know you have the dirtier mouth.”
“Fuck off, Bradshaw.”
“See?!”
But they were both laughing and it helped Bradley relax. He settled into a chair, making sure he was supporting Bowie’s head and neck the whole time he held him. He felt a little twinge of sadness as he studied Bowie’s soft features. Obviously it was too early to tell who he would look more like, but he already had a head full of dark hair similar in color to Zak’s. He couldn’t help but wonder what their kid might have looked like.
He sniffled, blinking rapidly to try and clear the tears stinging the backs of his eyes. He shouldn’t have come. Shouldn’t have picked up the baby. Shouldn’t have ever dated Lydia. Shouldn’t have bought a fucking house for her. Shouldn’t have planned his entire life around one thing.
"Tell me a secret." Zak asked softly.
"I'm not gonna lie to you, Zak." Bradley swallowed a sigh, "I think I hit rock bottom."
"Then you've got nowhere to go but up."
-&-
An hour later he was seated in the front seat of his Bronco, parked in the driveway of the house he bought to start a life with Lydia, staring at the pristine yard and white picket fence. Two months ago he was so sure of everything. The job. The house. The girl. Now he wasn’t sure of anything.
Gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles paled, Bradley finally, finally cried. Face scrunched and fat tears rolling down his cheeks and shoulders shaking, cried.
There were times in his life he couldn’t believe his shit luck.
His neighbors probably thought he was nuts. Sitting in his car crying until he laughed and then laughing until he hyperventilated and had to get out and lay in the grass for a few minutes.
He wanted to throw a tantrum like a toddler. Scream and cry and kick and thrash. Throw something. But instead, he went inside and changed into work out clothes and grabbed his headphones and turned on something loud and heavy. Despite the emotional exhaustion, he had too much restless energy. So he ran. And ran. And ran. Trekking through his neighborhood and the surrounding areas until his legs ached and his lungs burned and he wasn’t totally sure he could make it back home on foot.
He felt like a kid again when he called Maverick to come and pick him up. He had hoped the run would clear his head. But it just added to his exhaustion.
“I’m not supposed to tell you this,” Maverick said as if that ever stopped him, pulling into Bradley’s driveway and putting the car in park, “But there’s a deployment coming up. Six months underway. I’m not sure how much flying is involved, but it could be good for you. Learn how to command a fleet. If you do well - and I know you will - you could see a promotion at the end of it.”
“Thanks, Mav.” Bradley rasped, pushing the passenger door open and unfastening his seatbelt, “I’ll think about it.”
“If you’re up for it, talk to Iceman by the end of the week, alright?”
“Alright.”
Bradley trudged inside. He didn’t bother to turn the lights on. Just grabbed a protein bar and a gatorade from the kitchen and went to bed.