#baby on board has a little bit of humor ghjfdk

[fyrewalks]

He wakes to a punishing hangover. A god-awful, earth-tilting, death-would-be-kinder sort of hangover. One that, as the night filters back to him in hazy bits and pieces, is well deserved. Mostly through long built-up muscle memory, Bob reaches for his glasses on the nightstand only to be met with nothing. He groans. Right - broken. Crushed under Seresin’s heel. It’s a problem, he decides, that can be dealt with later as nausea forces him to the bathroom. His knees ache by the time he thinks he’s through the worst of it and he has to sit down halfway through his shower to not risk puking again. A trip to the ER because he cracked his head open isn’t going to make this weekend better. 

Fuzzy as the night’s memories are, Bob remembers most of it. He loses track after Seresin left; he can’t account for how he got home in one piece or if he has Nat or another member of the Dagger Squad to thank. For all their sakes, Bob hopes it was neither. Nat might accept whatever non-answer he can give her about what happened, but the others won’t be as forgiving. Rooster, maybe. Probably not Coyote or Fanboy. Bob can’t chase away the wild look in Seresin’s eyes, the image of him licking blood off his thumb, nor his haunting words. Oh, does he try - when he’s finally capable of functioning without throwing up or flinching at too loud a sound, he strips his bedding and cleans the accommodation till it’s spotless. He punishes himself with a seven-mile run on Sunday hoping the rhythmic pounding of his feet will drown out the messy thoughts in his head. It doesn’t. 

When they return to work, Bob feels too exposed without his glasses to hide behind. He decided after his run on Sunday that his glasses were officially a lost cause. Even if they were still miraculously there behind the karaoke bar, he didn’t have his hopes up and he was reluctant to even go back. It didn’t leave him with many options. After an hour of wearing them, he realized his old, backup pair were too outdated, the old prescription leaving everything with a tinge of blurriness. He’d never be able to fly with them nor was he going to be a dick who wore their sunglasses inside, prescription or not. It left him with only one option - contacts. Contacts he only had because he lost a bet to Duck, his front seater on the Eagles. Duck was a good pilot, a good friend, even if he kept insisting that if Bob got rid of the glasses, he might have a better time on the dating front. Bob’s still not convinced, but he’s thankful the ensuing teasing from the Dagger Squad focuses on his glasses and taunts that his callsign should be changed to BYOB - bring your own bottle. No one even hints about his and Seresin’s trip out back behind the bar or any kissing. 

It’s relieving, but the relief doesn’t last long. The hops are brutal. Their detachment officially extended into a training season, their flying has relaxed to some degree with no mission spots on the line. But Seresin leaves them hanging during drills and singles them out during dog fights. Bob’s sick of the tone by the week’s end. He’s angry at himself too. Nat vents her frustrations and there’s nothing he can do to take the blame. He can’t explain that he’s the source of Seresin’s ire. I'll make sure you never fly again. And I can make that fucking happen, Floyd. Bob couldn’t exactly ask anyone if those words held weight, besides the intensity in which Seresin had said them, but google told him enough to know that Seresin had connections. So, Bob keeps silent, he lets the teasing roll off his back, and hopes the kiss would fade from both their memories. 

It doesn’t take much from Nat or Rooster to talk him into the road trip. He agrees to it, figuring it’ll be a welcome distraction. (The harder Bob tries not to think about the kiss, the more he thinks about it. The more he thinks about Seresin’s wild eyes and how, for a split second, Bob had thought he might’ve pushed him against the wall to kiss him back.) It’s not till he’s crammed into the very back that he realizes the fatal flaw - it wasn’t a trio exclusive invite but the entire Dagger Squad. Fuck him. 

He tries to hunch lower in his seat, letting the others field Seresin’s question. Bob’s curious too. Not that he’ll ask as much; no, he’s content to sit back and watch. Until Seresin’s forced into the back with him.

“Come on, let me drive or something,” he offers. Bob had offered when they had first picked him too. 

“Nah, BYOB. You might have a flask back there,” Machado responds, winking in the rearview mirror, and sends snickers throughout the car. 

If he did, which he certainly didn’t as he was firmly back to water-only, he wasn’t sharing with them. Bob glares at the back of their heads but accepts his fate without further complaint. 

“Guess you’re a back seater, now,” he mutters, sneaking his first proper glance at Seresin. Bob reaches for his backpack down at his feet and pulls out headphones. He stuffs them in his ears and queues up his go-to playlist. Maybe, he’ll be lucky, and they’ll, particularly Hangman, will let him be. It’s foolish, wishful thinking.

"𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍' 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐈𝐍' 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐎 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐃, 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐘?" jake scoffs. his record speaks for itself, and he'd be damned if a back-seater dared to so much as compare track records. he could even drag the fight out and remind floyd how everything that he'd been trying to drill into rooster's big dumb ass head had been right all along---- that mission needed to be flown by confident pilots who could imitate maverick and fly by impulse. it must get to everyone that jake made his point all the while earning another air-to-air kill like this pilot shit was a game set on easy mode to him. furthermore, he stands on his perspective that even though maverick chose the personalities he very well liked for the job, that he didn't choose the most accurate pilot or wingman. he'll probably disagree with mav's decision for the remainder of his goddamn naval career---- but why did floyd CARE? why did he want to harm jake's career when their jobs were far enough apart to make bob's input all but obsolete to him?

"if you're so confident in... whatever it is you're claiming to 'bring to the team', then why bother gettin' in my face with the fucking attitude, huh? son? what're we even arguing about?" blond brows slant in a deep frown. if bob's so proud to be trace's number two, then fine. walking in someone else's shadow has never been his thing, as proven by his frequent struggles to work with others. if he'd grown any sort of attachment to the dagger squad, he would readily deny it; mostly, jake was just excited to be learning from the very best even after maverick kicked his ass and it FRUSTRATED him. bob wasn't competing with him, though he wouldn't have put it past phoenix to convince him that jake seresin was 'the enemy'.

thoughts skitter to an abrupt halt as pressure lands on his toned chest: two hands splayed out across his pecs, belonging to bob. it feels both overdue and downright alarming. well, it should really be upsetting---- he should yell, make another scene. do anything except for wanting this. maybe it's the final curveball in some DEVIOUS plot that floyd's been cooking up all along, or maybe the idiot's just drunk. jake doesn't know; he's kissed, and then shoved away. looks like the back-seater's got a little more sense than jake thought, as pushing him away was the right call to make.

jake's so goddamn stunned that he can't even initially react to the shove. a good thing, because his body's telling him to plant his hands against the wall and press a knee in between bob's thighs and keep him there.... as they resolve the prior argument in hot and heavy kisses. but that's not.... them? that's not jake.

he wouldn't do that. he can't do that.

somewhere in between the sensations of hot-blooded desire and the notion of having been REJECTED, seresin begins to look frenzied. his eyes, wider than they should be, shoot in the direction of the karaoke bar. anyone could see them. they would find out jake's secret, and drag him through the mud for it. his air of invincibility would be crushed, and other people would have something vulnerable to hold over his head now.

and it would all be bob's fault.

( nevermind that he wanted it, that his lips were still throbbing for it. )

"who the fuck do you think you're playin' with?" jake snapped, snarling and jabbing his pointer finger at bob. "you tell ANYONE about this? i'll make sure you never fly again. and i can make that fucking happen, floyd."

he had to get away, and though he wasn't running, he was half-breathless by the time he stormed back into the bar. something purely visceral climbed into his chest. he's a man of following raw instinct, but he'd just ignored it there. with bob. but just because bob was okay with the world seeing him for what he truly was, didn't mean that jake was even close to being okay with it. dealing with his complicated feelings for his sexuality would mean opening up a lot of repressed shit and---- fuck. he did not come here tonight for this.

"you good?" machado found him first, brown features clouded by intense worry.

"i gotta get outta here---- i can't stay here----" for the first time since... since the suicide mission, everything seems like it's on fire and jake can't stand it. he's out of control, and bob stole it from him. he's pissed the hell off.

javy, being the good friend that he is, offers to drive jake back to housing on base, but jake refuses because he knows his best friend will have some questions. javy's had these 'questions' before, and it's always ended with a strong case of DENIAL from jake.

for the remainder of the weekend, jake spent his time affectively doing what he could to get bob out of his system. couldn't fathom how an argument turned into a kiss; it's something jake would've teased him for rather mercilessly, had he not wanted to pin floyd to that wall and pounce. moreover, bob was drunk as hell and that was probably just something that he did with guys. the thought provides more fuel for jake to hate instead of love. he's not going to crush on natasha's goddamn back-seater.

speaking of natasha and baby on board, the dagger squad continues more air combat manoeuver training once the following week rolls around. by monday, jake seems like he's back to normal---- his movie star grin that was lowkey condescending as hell and texan charm put on a facade that nothing had even happened the other night. when they train together, he's still as RUTHLESS as ever and makes sure to only leave phoenix and bob hanging this time. it's something that's noticed, particularly when phoenix goes fuming to rooster, but no one brings it to jake's immediate attention.

once the next weekend hits, jake realizes that he hasn't even thought about another girl, and that the sheer effort he's putting in just to ignore bob was causing him to think about bob even more. it's INFURIATING, so much so that he texts javy in hopes that they can have a boy's night out. just the two of them, none of the idiot squad around.

'sorry, can't,' machado texts back. 'but we should go on a road trip, though.'

it's still a boy's night out----- jake thinks. until the saturday morning arrives, and jake walks outside towards the truck to see javy and bradshaw in the two front seats. he's going to have a word later with javy about bradshaw, of all people, replacing him. right now, he's having second thoughts about this entire trip.

machado and bradshaw were grinning a little too hard, looking a little too smug for comfort.

"so, whose idea was this?" jake gave a tiny attempt at being civil as he hauled his gym bag into the trunk.