Chapter Text
The incessant buzz of fluorescent lights cut through the silence that otherwise filled the med bay. Bradley shifted on his thin mattress, the frame of the elevated bed creaking in protest. The med bays aboard military aircraft carriers were meant for utility not comfort, and his forced overnight stay in said med bay was proving to be even more restless than a typical night in Navy barracks, and that was saying something.
It was nearing 2am, long past lights out, and Bradley’s eyes traced the outlines on the ceiling idly. The med bay didn’t have rooms, per se, but the beds were partitioned off, divided by thin blue curtains to create a semblance of privacy. Behind one such curtain, Bradley could hear Maverick’s soft snoring. He’d been out for hours, crashing as soon as the adrenaline high had. It was a wonder to Bradley how the older man could be sleeping so soundly after the day they’d had, but he supposed that after a career like Mav’s, near death experiences and crash landings just weren’t as exciting anymore.
For Bradley, though… Well, his nerves were shot. Even so many hours later, his heart rate was still elevated, pounding in his chest. His hands still had a slight tremble. His breathing hitched every time he closed his eyes for more than a blink. When he did, he saw the smoke trail behind his plane as Mav went down, saw the tangle of tree limbs and parachute strings as he fell toward the snow-covered earth, saw the landing gear break off and plummet toward the taxiway. He could see the 5th gen appearing in front of them and hear the beeping of their plane’s warning system. He could hear Maverick telling him to eject and remembered the feeling of dread at the thought of attending another funeral, only this time without a body to bury.
It was that stomach sinking feeling that spurred Bradley from his bed and sent him tiptoeing out into the dark hallway despite strict medical orders. The long and winding corridors of the carrier were difficult enough to navigate in the daytime, but Bradley found himself at the empty mess hall. His stomach growled.
Normally, the mess hall was staffed ‘round the clock, but this particular carrier was minimally staffed in accordance with the secrecy of the mission. Which, of course, meant Bradley would have to wait ‘till morning for anything to eat. Instead, he found himself pacing up and down the empty aisles, running a hand along the back of the hard plastic chairs.
“Can’t sleep?”
Bradley spun around, nearly jumping out of his skin. He let out a sigh of relief to see it was only Hangman, not a nurse come to chide him. The relief faded though when he realized it was in fact, Hangman. The snarky blond was one of the last people Bradley wanted to see right now.
“Could ask the same to you.”
Hangman looked to the floor and smirked. His hands were in his pockets. He might have looked relaxed, except Bradley could clearly see the tension in his shoulders. He knew the feeling.
“Nah, I can’t sleep. Too keyed up from earlier still,” Bradley offered. Hangman nodded in response. He looked up from the ground, his eyes roving over Bradley. He didn’t know what the pilot was looking to find, but he guessed he found it, because he took a step toward him.
“Me too,” Hangman admitted. “Though we both know I had the easy job today.”
Bradley opened his mouth but found himself at a loss for words. It was rare— scratch that, unheard of— for Jake “Hangman” Seresin to shy away from praise or a good story. Bradley expected him to still be in his bunk, regaling Coyote with the details of his epic day-saving exploits for the third time, honestly. It was strange enough to find him here, quietly strolling through the carrier corridors. Stranger still for him to be almost… humble.
“Something to say, Bradshaw?” he questioned.
“I… guess not. Just never thought I’d live to see this day.”
“And what day would that be?”
“The one where you don’t act like a total asshole.”
“Well, then I’m glad I saved your ass, so you could see it.”
“There he is, that's the Hangman I know and… well, the Hangman I know.”
Hangman put a hand on his chest, mouth agape in feigned offense.
“You wound me, Bradshaw!”
“Need the med bay?” Bradley scoffed, “I can show you the way.”
“I may just have to take you up on that.”
Despite himself, Bradley smiled. It was small— blink and you miss it— but it was real. Then they fell into a long quiet, neither of them quite sure what to say. Bradley tried to look anywhere but at Hangman, who in turn seemed to look only at Bradley. He could feel his eyes on him, skin burning in places where the green eyes lingered too long. Bradley shifted. His broken ribs hurt like a mother and he felt like was more bruise than man at this point. And on top of all that, he’d suddenly regained his appetite, and his stomach was making its desires known. Loudly.
Hangman, to his credit, did not laugh. Or at least tried not to. Bradley cringed.
“Hungry?” Hangman said, barely holding back his laughter.
“Fucking starving. But breakfast isn’t for 4 more hours,”
Hangman rolled his eyes.
“Same ol’ Rooster.”
“What does that mean?” Bradley asked, but Hangman was already walking by him, headed for the back of the mess hall. “Hey, what’re you—?“
“Shhhh! Shut it, would ya?” Hangman chided. He was at the counter now, where the cooks served three square meals a day. He hesitated a moment, looking around for an entrance to the kitchen, and Bradley thought he had finally come to his senses. Instead, he watched, eyebrows raised, as Hangman placed his hands on the counter and swung his legs over. He disappeared from view, leaving Bradley alone in the quiet cafeteria.
“You comin’ or what?” Hangman’s head popped out around the corner.
“I—,“ Bradley stuttered.
“Come on!” Hangman hissed.
Against his will, his legs carried him toward the sound of Hangman’s voice. They propelled him over the counter and into the kitchen, clutching his ribs as he landed. The stainless-steel appliances showed him a distorted reflection of himself. There were shadows under his eyes and a cut on his chin. His hair was mussed from tossing and turning.
“What’re you hungry for?” Hangman’s voice pulled his attention away from the disturbing image. He had pulled a towel from somewhere and had it flung over his shoulder, hands on his hips. Bradley could imagine him standing over a barbecue grill with a ‘kiss the cook’ apron, tongs in hand. It made him laugh to think of it.
“What’s so funny?” Hangman questioned.
“Nothing,” Bradley smiled. “And I don’t know what you think you’re doing.”
“Making breakfast.”
“You’re going to get yourself court-martialed.”
“Au contraire, my friend, I am going to get us court-martialed.”
“Oh, ‘cause that’s so much better.”
“At least we’ll go down together.”
Bradley studied Hangman’s smile. Normally, there was a malice behind it, a venom. Bradley had long since learned to notice the tell-tale rattle before the snake bite, seeing that snarky grin as the warning sign that he was about to strike. Except now… there was only genuine amusement. Bradley might have even called it kindness if he didn’t know better. But, of course, he did know better.
“Eggs,” Bradley said. “I just want some fucking eggs.”
Hangman nodded.
“Eggs it is.”
~~~
Steam wafted off of the eggs as Hangman scraped the last of them onto Bradley’s plate. Bradley hardly waited for the spatula to be out of the way to start shoveling the food into his mouth. The perfectly fluffy, impeccably cooked eggs practically melted on Bradley’s tongue. Maybe it was the extreme hunger or maybe it was the exhaustion, but they were fucking delicious. He had never had food this good on an aircraft carrier and definitely never would again.
“Hey, watch the hand, dude!” Hangman laughed as he pulled his hand and spatula quickly out of the warpath that was Bradley Bradshaw’s mouth. He grabbed a milkcrate and settled down on it across from Bradley, who had formed a makeshift table and seat out of two milkcrates of his own.
“You wanna keep the hand, then stay out of this zone,” Bradley said through a mouthful of egg, motioning to the area in front of him, hands like the red marshaling wands for landing a plane. Again, Hangman just laughed, with a warmth unfamiliar to Bradley. Unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. He finished eating, all but licking the plate clean. Bradley leaned back, resting his back on the freezer door. It was nice and cool through his clothes, and he relished it.
Hangman stood, collecting the empty plate and fork, and headed for the large commercial sink across the room. Oh, Bradley thought. Right. He scrambled out of his seated position and over to help with the illicit dishes. His mother would roll over in her grave if she saw him being this rude.
“I am capable of washing dishes on my own, Bradshaw.” Hangman looked at him out of the corner of his eye as he scrubbed the pan.
“Let me wash them. It’s the least I can do,” Bradley insisted.
“No. Seriously, go sit down.”
“At least let me dry ‘em.”
Hangman stared at him for a moment. Then he flung the towel off of his shoulder and tossed it at Bradley’s face.
“Fine.”
They washed and dried quietly, no noise save for the splash of water and clang of plates. When Bradley had returned the last of the dishes to their proper places, he found Hangman staring at him again.
“What?” He asked. Had he gotten water all over himself without noticing?
“Nothin’,” Hangman replied.
“Seriously, do I have something on my face?”
Hangman stepped close to him. Very close. The distance between them was miniscule. Hangman looked at him, lips slightly parted, with such intensity that Bradley felt his face get hot. He swallowed. Hangman noticed, eyes shifting from his face to his throat and back up again.
“You know you scared the shit out of me—us—earlier,” Hagman said. “Getting shot down like that, you’re lucky you even survived the fall.”
Bradley stiffened. So here it was. The bragging and egging, because Jake Seresin is always looking for a fight. He seemed to sense Bradley getting ready to respond, because he put up a finger.
“Let me finish.”
Bradley obliged him, begrudgingly. Hangman furrowed his brow, taking a second before he kept going.
“You shouldn’t have made that shot blind, but you did. You shouldn’t have survived that fall but you did. Against all odds you pulled off an impossible mission and then survived an impossible situation. What I’m trying to say is you impress me, Bradshaw. A helluva lot.”
Bradley blinked. Hangman was still just a hairs breadth away from him and now he was complimenting him. The day just got stranger and stranger.
“Um… thanks?” He managed.
“Do me a favor and don’t get shot down again.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“That’s what worries me, actually.” Hagman leaned forward. Just barely, just a millimeter. Bradley felt his breath catch. He blinked and Hangman was leaping over the counter, back into the mess hall.
“Goodnight!” A hand raised in the air, but Hangman didn’t look back as he said it.
Bradley watched him walk away. It wasn’t until the slender figure of the pilot had disappeared around a corner that the heat left Bradley’s cheeks. He shook of the feeling that he had messed something up in that interaction and headed back to the med bay. When he reached the room, he walked quietly to the bed and slipped under the paper-thin covers. The room was quiet. The few lights buzzed, interrupted only by Maverick’s intermittent snores. In the quiet of the night, Bradley stared at the ceiling, mind racing with thoughts of Jake Seresin and the strange meal they had just shared.