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🖤✈🤍
The punch is expected.
Jake really isn't surprised by the hit. Has been walking the very fine line between friendly jabs and not-friendly antagonizing since the first moment they arrived back on North Island. Knew the chirp about Bradley's dad would only garner vitriol and hate but still let it slip past his tongue and loose lips.
So…
No. The punch wasn't too far out of the realm of possibilities or surprises.
What's surprising is the fact that after Bradley's fist connects with his jaw, Bradley is the one who recoils like it was Jake who'd struck him.
"What the fuck?"
Yeah, exactly Bradshaw. What the fuck indeed.
Jake's question is answered quickly though when he spots a bruise blossoming on Bradley's jaw, mirroring the one he can tell is already forming on his own face.
Oh.
Well, that's unfortunate timing. Jake doesn't give himself another second to think about it—about soulmates, and fate, and destined pairs—before rearing back and punching Bradley right in the eye.
Too late to realize that would do more harm than good, but Jake has never been one to think before doing anything, so he doesn't realize the mistake until he's yelping (in a totally manly way) and flinching back. His eye hurts like a bitch and when he blinks it open he finds Bradley staring at him with equal levels of shock, his own hand covering his eye.
The others all swarm them not seconds later. An army of hands and shouting, telling them to break it up! or that's enough Hangman and Rooster! and even a quiet please don't fight from Fritz. Jake raises his hands in surrender, eyes locked on Bradley the entire time. He can see the tumultuous thoughts spiraling in those honey brown eyes like the pages of a book being flipped; flurry quick and impossible to pinpoint on one.
This will absolutely end in disaster.
"I'm cool." He says, taking a step back. He needs space. Time to think. To ice his fucking cheek and eye and ponder what the fuck he's supposed to do now.
Because there's a reason soulmates don't fly missions together. And Jake knows it's really only them that are going. Javy and Fritz are good, but Rooster is better. And Jake is the best.
So does he tell Maverick, or Warlock, or, god fucking forbid, Cyclone, about his new found soulmate and possibly have one (or both) of them removed from the mission due to bullshit parameters? Or does he keep quiet, pray to god that Rooster also keeps his lips sealed, and hope they don't get killed on a mission that's damn near impossible to even practice?
As stupid as it is… option two is really the only one that works.
Jake isn't willing to bow down and roll over because the powers at be decided to fuck him over and gift him a soulmate in the shape of one Bradley Bradshaw.
No fucking sir, he ain't about that.
So that's settled.
He won't tell anyone.
"You've got to be joking." Javy deadpans, jaw hanging open a little.
Jake grimaces. "You can't fucking tell anyone, you shit head."
So Jake maybe spilled the beans. It's not his fault, really. Javy was the one who went into g-loc and passed out and almost redesigned the side of a cliff with his face.
"Who the fuck would even believe me?"
Well. Okay. That tracks. It's a bit hurtful, if he's being completely transparent, but still. It tracks. Jake knows he and Bradley have a very…unique acquaintanceship. One that has been built over years of teasing, barbs, vitriol and spite. Mostly spite. Which had started back in flight school when Bradley showed up with a chip the size of Texas on his shoulder and a ghost chasing him.
(Jake easily put two and two together when someone had mentioned a tragedy in '86 followed by the callsign Goose.)
But still. People might believe Jake and Bradley could be soulmates. It's not that crazy. He says as much and gets Javy's full belly laughter for twenty minutes straight.
Jake's decision to ignore and forget about it goes well until Maverick pulls the stunt that earns him the Team Leader title and then truly goes down the drain when Rooster is picked as Dagger Two.
His heart does something funny in his chest when the words are stated, so clear and impossible to mishear in the echoey hanger of the carrier.
Jake knew it was coming as soon as Maverick began speaking. It's impossible not to notice the history between Rooster and Maverick, especially after the death of Admiral Kazansky and the almost accidents with Phoenix, Bob and Javy. But still, the idea of his soulmate going out there and possibly not coming back?
Jake definitely had to rethink his decision.
He finds Bradley on the flight deck right before final checks, and as soon as he catches those honey brown eyes staring back at him, Jake's resolve folds like a house of cards. They stare at one another, what feels like a chasm stretched far and wide between them, but Jake's nerves are jittery and firing on all cylinders.
Say something.
"You give 'em hell." He ends up landing on, a little embarrassed but mostly relieved it wasn't something worse.
Bradley blinks, lips popping open like he's unsure what to respond with. Jake doesn't blame him, this whole situation is fucked up.
"Hangman—" brows furrowing, Bradley licks his lips and steps closer, voice dropping slightly, "Jake. We should talk."
They should. That isn't new. Especially considering the whole, new, bonded for life soulmates match sharing injuries thing and one of them is going on a potentially deadly mission in less than ten minutes.
But time. Time has never been on their side. And it sure isn't now.
So Jake shakes his head and tries his best to grin (it feels more like a grimace, and Bradley's expression is just as messy) and pats Bradley on the chest, right over his heart. "When you get back, we'll talk, ya?"
It's a promise and a threat. Jake might've spent years ( he can admittedly confess that it was pig tail pulling more than anything) fighting with Bradley, but he was always under the impression that was all he was allowed to have of the other. Now though? Now all the tables have been flipped, and Jake is more than eager to see where this goes.
He just needs Bradley to come home.
Bradley nods, jerky and stilted.
And then he steps around Jake and heads to his F-18.
Jake takes a moment to just—breathe. To reorient himself in a way that doesn't feel like his whole world, his whole future, is walking away from him on this flight deck.
"Hangman, you good?" Javy comes up on his side, brows furrowed.
Jake nods in response. Worries that if he tries to speak his voice would give way to the despair he's struggling to keep at bay. He doesn't want to feel this way, but he's heard the stories of soulmate pairs when one dies. Heard about the pain right before the emptiness. How you would just—know, instantly.
He doesn't want to feel that.
Javy stares at him for a second longer before clapping him on the shoulder and heading back to the tower.
Jake turns to watch Bradley getting settled into his jet before mentally scolding himself to focus and making for his own F-18. He's Dagger Spare, dammit, and he will damn well be ready to go if and when the team needs him to. He's got no time to think about what-ifs or could-have-beens or even the fated, omnipresent had-we-known.
"—Mav! No!"
"—Dagger one is hit! I repeat, Dagger one is hit!"
"Did anyone see a shoot? I can't see him. Did anyone see him?"
"Dagger Squad. Report back to the ship."
"Rooster, we gotta go. He's gone."
"—Rooster!"
……
"—Dagger two is hit!"
Jake knows Bradley is alive.
He can feel the bruises forming as he presumably crashes his damn plane into a snowy hellscape, but it's a small victory in the face of the grand scheme. The one on his ribs aches like a bitch, so he figures Bradley probably bruised or cracked a few ribs. There's one on his throat that burns more than aches, and Jake knows it's a scrape by the difference in feeling.
Rooster is alive, but stranded.
Maverick is MIA, presumed KIA.
And Jake is being ordered to stand down.
Mission control ordered him right after the remaining Daggers had broken away from land and were on their way back to the ship. Dagger three and Dagger four. Half of the squad sent out returning. It makes Jake nauseous to think about. When Jake ignores the call to stand down, choosing to remain in his seat and wait, he hears Cyclone come over the coms and order him again.
How can they order him to stand down when Rooster is alive? Out there and alone, injured but alive.
Except, they don't know that.
Only Jake knows that.
And he chose not to tell them why.
So now the only way to make him holding vigil for a presumably dead teammate is to either risk insubordination and a court martial or to tell the truth and risk never getting to work along side Bradley again.
Coyote appears at his wing. Doesn't try to persuade him down, just stands on the top step of the step ladder and waits with him.
Phoenix, Bob, Fanboy and Payback make it back safely, if not a little jostled. They're sent to medical immediately, but Phoenix shares a meaningful look with Jake through the canopy, like she's asking a question only he knows the answer to.
He can do little but nod in her direction. And that seems to be what she was looking for, because her shoulders sag ever so slightly and she turns to leave, following along with Bob.
Guess he told someone.
Not that Jake can blame him, since he told Javy.
He waits an hour before coms crackle back online and alert him of the update: Rooster is alive, and apparently flying.
Maverick.
He must be alive as well.
Jake tenses, waiting for the second the tower lets him go. He can see Cyclone pacing the length of it, shaking his head sometimes but mostly just looking tense and annoyed.
And then—
Finally.
"Dagger Spare, you are cleared for takeoff." Cyclone orders, crisp and clear through his headset.
Jake nods and fires back a quick, "yes sir."
A second of silence before Cyclone adds. "Bring them home Lieutenant." Jake jerks his attention up to the tower and finds Cyclone staring back at him, and he can only nod in return.
Does Cyclone know? Probably not.
Jake takes off and flies fast. Rooster is pinging almost directly in front of him, and Jake just hopes that whatever hell they just got through isn't hot on their heels. He can feel a few more bruises forming as he flies, probably from being jostled around in whatever death trap they've got supersonic at this point, so Jake holds onto the feeling of the pain and keeps pushing forward.
The ensuing ten minutes is both simultaneously the longest and shortest ten minutes of Jake's life. Catching up to Rooster and Maverick, hearing Rooster's raw panic over the broken coms, not knowing Jake can hear him. Maverick's apologies. Jake's tone lock and firing a second before the f-14 holding his soulmate and his captain is blown to smithereens.
He's maybe not so proud of how cocky he sounds over the coms when Bradley finally notices him, but the smile he gets in response makes his chest flutter like a bunch of butterflies swarming around so. Don't look a horse in the nose, or whatever the saying is.
The resulting fly back is just as uneventful, thank god. Jake lands his jet with practiced, perfect ease and watches raptly as Maverick crash lands the barely holding together tomcat into the deck. He feels the resulting bruises form on Bradley's knees (probably from the seat in front of him) and shoulders (harness bruises are a bitch) and the ever terrible bruising of his groin (see above, harness bruising, not fun).
But all the bruises just meant that Bradley was okay. Banged up but alive. And that is something Jake can enjoy.
The crew swarms the tomcat in droves, the Daggers right at the helm with rambunctious energy that's shown with tight hugs and slaps on the back. Jake takes an extra second to wander over, scared a little at the prospect of talking to Bradley so soon after almost losing him.
But Bradley only grins at him, boyish and cute, and Jake's worry melts away like ice cream on a summer's afternoon.
After a few chirps from Phoenix, Bradley motions for Jake to follow him. And Jake is like a moth to a flame with how easily he succumbs to the desire to stay close to Bradley, following him without a second thought or feeling. Bradley leads him down a hallway and into one of the bunk rooms, assumably his own but Jake can't tell from the lack of personal effects, and then turns on him with piercing, sharp eyes.
"So.." He starts, then stops. His cheeks go a little pink, the same shade as the tips of his ears, and Jake has to bite his tongue to stave off the teasing remark that wants to come up. Now isn't the time to piss off Bradley. Later, maybe, when things have settled.
Instead he leans back against the bunk door and echoes, "…so?"
Rubbing the back of his neck, Bradley averts his gaze for a second. Takes a deep, slow breath that rattles his chest and makes him wince, before turning his attention back to Jake. "Soulmates."
Ah, one word conversations. So much fun.
"Yup."
Huffing, Bradley shakes his head. "Are you just going to keep saying one word?"
"You are literally also only saying one word, so."
"Right." Bradley shakes his head again and winces, pressing a palm to his side where Jake feels the phantom pain of cracked ribs.
"You should go to medical. It's pretty stupid to avoid seeking medical help when you clearly broke some ribs." Jake jerks a finger at where Bradley's holding himself still, one brow raised.
Bradley glares at him, opening his mouth to probably fire some snarky retort back, before he seems to come to the realization that Jake knows his ribs hurt because Jake's ribs also hurt. And that seems to shut him up.
Jake sighs. Guess Jake is going to have to be the adult here. Javy would proud of him. "Look, okay. I'm gonna be frank with you, Bradshaw, cause I really do want you to go get those ribs checked out. Yes, we're soulmates. Yes, it changes things. Yes, I would like to see where this goes. But only if you want to as well. I've seen a lot of soulmates who got together because they thought they needed to, like fate would give them the worst type of karma in response if they just ignored destiny like that. But they were terrible for one another. I don't—I would like to not be terrible with you. I would like to see where this goes." He pauses, swallowing past his dry throat and clearing it. "If you want to, that is."
And boy, isn't that the end all be all. If Bradley doesn't want any of that then Jake is out of luck. Sure, he'd like to keep Bradley as a friend if he could, even if they ended up not getting together and seeing where this goes. But he'd much rather see where this goes (preferably to the bedroom, but hey, he's not picky) than pretend to be okay with the bare minimum.
Bradley stares at him, brows pulled low over his eyes like he's deep in thought. The bruise Jake gave him has since faded, but Jake could still feel where his fist connected with Bradley. Can feel it on his own face from time to time. Bradley's resting back on one hand, the other still protectively covering his torso like he can physically keep his possibly broken bones together.
"What changed?"
The question startles Jake slightly. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, Jake. What changed? At the beginning of this training you were up in my face, throwing insults like they were candy. We've always been at an impasse, rivals or enemies or whatever everyone else calls it."
Ah. Yeah, that's fair. Now it's his turn to feel timid, uncharacteristically shy. Now is the time for honesty, Jake. Pull up those big boy pants and tell Rooster the truth.
"I never saw you as that. Any of that." He blurts, then ducks his head when he feels his ears heat up. "Rival, enemy, adversary. Any of it. I was actually always impressed with you. The way you flew, the things you could pull off. Your time for the combat maneuver drills was top of the line, like that's insane. But you always felt so—cold. So untouchable. Like the world was out to get you and you wouldn't let anyone get close enough to even try and breech those walls." He frowns, glancing up at Bradley and catching his gaze. "So I did the only thing that would get your attention—rage bait. I pissed you off, and got hooked on the feeling of your undivided attention on me and me alone."
Bradley snorts, then hisses, clutching harder at his side. "Ow, fuck. Don't make me laugh, you jerk." Jake grimaces, but Bradley just carries on. "I get that. When I started at flight school—it wasn't great. But everyone was always droning about my dad, or Mav, or Ice, or you. So I built you up to be like them—unattainable and impossible to run from."
Well. "Aren't we a pair of jackasses then."
That earns another wheezy laugh, Bradley cursing him again. "Look, okay. We can talk more after you get checked out. If I can feel it when I breath in, then it must be hell for you. C'mon, I'll even give you a kiss for good luck if you're cooperative." It's a gamble, but god does it pay off when Bradley's whole face lights up.
"What if I want that kiss paid in advance?"
Pretending to ponder it, Jake takes the few steps over to Bradley's hunched form and helps him up with gentle, sturdy hands. "Well, I guess that can be arranged."
Bradley doesn't wait a second after that, using both hands to cup Jake's cheeks and pulls him into a kiss that feels too dirty for the room they're currently standing in, tongue licking past his lips and into the wet heat of his mouth, tangling with his own. It makes him heady with several different feelings, all of which remind him of the very tight flight suit that leaves little to the imagination.
Pulling back to breath, he rests his head against Bradley's shoulder. "Well, guess we don't have to worry about being incompatible."
Bradley answers with a giggle that turns into a whimper, and Jake heaves a put upon sigh but helps him to medical either way.
Yeah, they should be just fine.
🖤✈🤍