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say-al0e · 2 years ago

Text

Home Run

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw has been your friend for years, a constant in an ever-evolving life. You’ve always harbored a small crush on him. All it takes is one night to change everything. | Ft. “Are we on a date right now?” requested by @xlostinobsessionsx and “Don’t mind me, I’m just enjoying the view,” “You’re getting shy on me now? Really?,” and “Kiss me. Like you mean it.” requested by Anon.

Warnings: Baseball, mentions of anxiety, mentions of deployment, mention of parent death (Goose is mentioned but it’s blink and you miss it), mentions of family issues. I think that’s it but let me know if you see anything else!

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x fem!Reader (call sign Angel)

Word Count: 9k (......sorry)

Top Gun Taglist | Top Gun Masterlist

“What are you doing Saturday?”

Bradley Bradshaw sank into one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs opposite your desk, coffee in either hand as he spared you an expectant glance. Though he shouldn’t have looked so comfortable, at home amongst the stark white of the medical office, he’d become a near permanent fixture since returning to Top Gun.

Years had passed, several of which with only sporadic contact shared, but Bradley had barreled back into your life as if it had only been a matter of days. With the aviators he wore so often hooked into the collar of his undershirt and cheeks tinted pink from the California sun, you could almost believe it - convince yourself that you were the same twenty-somethings you’d once been - as you lifted your eyes to meet his.

“Good morning, Bradley. I’m doing fine, how are you? Gee, the weather sure is nice, though I heard it might rain,” you drawled, tone decidedly unimpressed as you glanced away from your chart to fix him with the blandest look you could muster. The lack of greeting was something he found himself guilty of often - it was nothing for him to drop into a conversation without preamble, leaving you scrambling to catch up - and you had a habit of calling him on it. However, when you were met with little more than raised brows, you allowed yourself a quiet laugh. “Manners, Bradshaw. What, were you raised in a barn?”

“I was raised in Virginia,” he reminded you, shrugging as he did so. “And spent four years in a fraternity. So, do with that what you will.” It took a great deal of effort to conceal your laughter, despite your amusement being his ultimate goal, as he swallowed his own with a sip of coffee. “Anyway,” he redirected, look pointed, “Saturday. Plans?”

With a sigh, you exchanged the pen in your hand for the coffee he slid across the desk - only slightly awed he still remembered your order - and provided Bradley with your full attention. It was clear he was a man on a mission, unbothered by the limited time to waste until training, and wouldn’t leave until he had an answer. So, you settled into your chair.

“Nope. I’m free.” It was clear that he had something in mind, an adventure of some sort he deemed you worthy of joining, but weeks had passed since you last spent quality time together. It wasn’t uncommon but you wanted to tease him, make him spell it out, so you hummed thoughtfully. “Nat’s sister is in town, Bob’s back home on leave, Mickey’s binging Star Trek in chronological order - which I’ve already done -, and Jake’s, well, Jake. So, I figured I’d just go to the beach or something. Why?”

Bradley frowned, an unexpected twinge of something akin to hurt clouding his otherwise bright eyes, as he lifted his own coffee. “I’m not on that list,” he pointed out, brows furrowing as he fixed you with a look you’d been on the receiving end of far too many times. “Why?”

The reaction was a little more serious than you were expecting and it was your turn to frown. One glance at Bradley told you that his inquiry, while uttered as teasingly as he could muster so early in the morning, was genuine. A brief flash of hurt crossed his face, darkened his eyes for a split second, before he hid his frown behind a sip of coffee.

A small pang of guilt needled at your skin. Though you’d meant it to be teasing, a joke, you never thought Bradley would take it as anything else.

“I just figured you’d be with Mav again,” you explained, only a little guilty. It was accompanied by an uncertain shrug as you stirred your coffee, though you knew Bradley could tell how bad you felt. “You’ve been with him the last few weekends and I didn’t want to interrupt the bonding.” When Bradley made a face, brows furrowing as he attempted to recount exactly how much time he’d been spending with Maverick - and when you last spent time together - you laughed quietly. “I think it’s nice, Roo,” you insisted, shooting him what you hoped to be a reassuring smile. “I’m glad you’re getting along. And now that we’re stationed together again, we can hang out whenever. It’s not a big deal.”

“That’s very thoughtful and I appreciate it,” he declared, slipping his foot under the gap in your desk to nudge yours, “but call me out when I get distant. You’re important to me.”

Though your entire body grew warm at the weight of his declaration - the sincerity with which he spoke, the earnest look in his eyes, the soft gravel of his voice - you swallowed the butterflies threatening to escape and shook your head.

Bradley Bradshaw was one of your closest friends and had been a part of your life for much of your adulthood. You’d seen him at his best - and at his worst - and knew what it meant to love him. He had a tendency to leave a trail of broken hearts in his wake, unintentionally as he’d always been charismatic yet emotionally unavailable, and you’d spent the last ten years determined not to be one.

Instead of allowing yourself to dwell on the feelings you’d realized last time you were stationed together, the feelings you’d spent years questioning and rationalizing and compartmentalizing; instead of allowing yourself to dwell on the warmth, then the chill of realization that he couldn’t mean that in the way you so desperately hoped, you shook your head.

“There’s a difference between being distant and making up for lost time, Roo.”

Bradley waved a hand, dismissing the idea even as his gaze dropped to the cup in his hands for a moment. “Anyway,” he redirected, lifting his gaze once more after a moment of silence. “There’s this new place downtown. It’s a bar but it’s got an arcade, go-karts, mini-golf; all kinds of shit.” He paused, for dramatic effect, you were sure - he’d been spending too much time with Fanboy, you decided, though you managed to keep from rolling your eyes. “There’s also a batting cage.”

The foundation of your friendship with Bradley was built on a handful of shared interests and experiences. You’d both had difficult upbringings, marred by tragedy, and both went to a traditional university rather than the Naval Academy. And, in the pursuit of your degrees, both spent years as student athletes. So, if the grin threatening to lift the corners of his mouth was anything to go by, Bradley knew he had you with the mention of the batting cage.

“Yeah, I heard about it. Fritz took his girlfriend there last weekend. She said it was nice.” Even before her confirmation, you’d seen it online and placed it on a list of ‘to-visit’ spots. There was no question that Bradley would be the perfect companion to enjoy all the bar had to offer but you continued to play coy. “Apparently, they’re working with that brewery, that one with the nice taproom we went to a few months ago.”

For a brief moment, silence settled over the corner of the medical office you called yours. Bradley waited, just until you returned your gaze to his, before raising a brow at you. “You’re going to make me ask, aren’t you?” His amusement was obvious, laughter badly hidden behind his coffee cup as he awaited your confirmation, but he wasted no time giving in to you. “Do you want to go with me, check it out?”

“It’s only fair, since you’ve been avoiding me.” The unamused look Bradley shot you nearly made you break, laughter bubbling in your through - regardless of the pang of guilt you felt earlier, you knew he wouldn’t take offense - but you bit your tongue and nodded. “Yeah, alright. S’long as you don’t pout when I embarrass you at the batting cage.”

A scoff left his lips as he stood from his seat, mission accomplished and ready to finally begin his day. “We were both pitchers, Angel,” he reminded you, rolling his eyes as he gathered his coffee and waited for you to do the same. “Neither of us can bat for shit.”

“Hey, speak for yourself, Bradshaw.” You followed his lead, gathering the items necessary for you to begin your rounds, as you offered him a saccharine smile. “I was a cleanup hitter.”

The word ‘bullshit,’ disguised with a purposefully awful cough escaped Bradley’s lips. When you rolled your eyes, amused at his disbelief, he laughed. “Seriously?”

“Dead serious. I swear I’ve told you this before, but look up my stats, frat boy,” you implored him, not bothering to hide your laughter as you rounded the desk and headed for the door with him close behind. “You were day drinking and I was in a batting cage. We were not the same.”

Silence settled for a moment, broken by the sounds of the medical staff beginning their morning shift, as you ambled down the hall with Bradley close by. Finally, after a beat, he hummed thoughtfully.

“Guess we’ll see on Saturday, then.” He brushed past you to hold the door, body close enough for the scent of his cologne to overpower the antiseptic and cloud your thoughts, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat as he glanced down at you. Still, you swallowed the butterflies beginning to swarm in your stomach as he proposed, “Fewest hits buys dinner?”

“I’m an expensive date, Bradshaw.” The taunt was nowhere near as strong as you intended, nowhere near as sharp, but if Bradley noticed, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he simply shrugged as you both paused just shy of the exit.

“So am I, Angel.”

Then, for just a moment, Bradley studied you. Those warm brown eyes raked over your skin, rapidly heating from the weight of his attention, as that amused grin never faltered. His eyes, however, softened considerably as you blinked at him. There seemed to be something on the tip of his tongue, some witty quip that would make you laugh, but before he could speak, the door opened and a handful of nurses streamed into the hallway.

The group, who you knew well and worked with daily, all bid you both a good morning - though you could see from their not-so-discreet stares that you’d be answering questions about your relationship, or lack thereof, with Bradley later on - and the moment was broken.

Bradley spared a glance at his watch, seemed to realize the time, and reached for the door. “I’ll see you Saturday.” And with that, he stepped outside, off in the direction of the hangar, leaving you to shake your head.

Spending time with Bradley was something you’d always adored, regardless of what it meant and where you ended up - whether it was at the Hard Deck, surrounded by the group of pilots you’d been accepted into without question, or out on the beach, alone as you watched the waves roll in. Though you had a tendency to tease, to give him a hard time, you were glad to accept any invitation to make up for lost time.

And while plans made at the beginning of the week always seemed so far away, especially plans made with Bradley, Saturday seemed to roll around far quicker than you expected.

Between new students - some losing the battle against the California sun, others losing the battle against a bottle of tequila - and yearly appointments all seeming to fall within the same few day span, you barely had time to breathe, let alone think about your weekend plans. Bradley was also kept busy, pulled in one direction or another as he prepared for yet another special mission, and your paths only crossed briefly throughout the week.

Though communication was limited - only a handful of words shared in passing, along with a text or two to confirm plans hadn’t changed - Bradley still arrived at your place at six on the dot.

Bradley made it halfway up the sidewalk, ready to knock at your door and greet you with a grin - some witty quip on his lips about how nice you cleanup - before you stepped out onto the small stoop with a bright grin of your own.

“Ya know, I was kind of expecting you to be fashionably late, Roo.”

While he’d never been late for work - Bradley understood the importance of time management, valued his job and wanted to make a positive impression on his superiors - he had a habit of making a grand entrance elsewhere. Most nights, he sauntered into the Hard Deck fifteen minutes after everyone else, dressed in a gaudy Hawaiian shirt and blue jeans that always hugged his thighs just right. He nearly always showed up to Sunday brunch with a hangover, twenty minutes after the agreed upon time, and already nursing a hangover.

But the thing about Bradley’s habitual lateness; he’d never been late for you.

If you made plans, agreed to spend quality time together without the rest of the Daggers, he made it a point to show up. Hungover, exhausted, burnt out from a long week - it never seemed to matter. Bradley had never left you hanging and you’d long since stopped wondering when that day would come. Instead, you thanked your lucky stars that Bradley Bradshaw deemed you worthy of his time and attention and grinned at him as you approached the Bronco.

Bradley caught the teasing lilt to your voice immediately, saw the glittering amusement in your eyes, and laughed himself as he shook his head. “I figured I got lucky enough getting you to hang out with me. Didn’t want to push it by being late.”

“Very thoughtful.” In true Bradley fashion, he opened the Bronco door for you, aviators slipping down the bridge of his nose as he took in the outfit - casual, but still nicer than anything you’d wear to the Hard Deck - you wore. You ignored the warmth creeping up your chest at the weight of his gaze, swallowed it in hopes of drowning the butterflies fluttering in the pit of your stomach, as you shook your head. “And chivalrous, too! It’s a wonder you’re so painfully single, Bradshaw.”

The roll of his eyes was playful, unbothered by the teasing jab at his relationship status - something that had become a running joke among the Daggers by this point, anyway - as he rounded the Bronco to join you. “It’s the emotional unavailability,” he defended, shrugging as he turned on the vehicle. “Or something like that.”

“At least you’re self-aware. That counts for something, I think.”

Occasionally, you wondered if the jabs at Bradley’s lack of a love life - or, rather, lack of a committed love life, lack of a steady love life, as he’d had his fair share of flings over the years, though they’d slowed to a complete stop since his return to Top Gun - ever bothered him.

Jake started it all a few months after the Daggers’ friendship became real, shortly after that first mission ended. He made some stupid joke about Bradley’s lack of commitment after he found himself committed to a pretty bartender and it was true enough. Bradley hadn’t had a steady partner in years, not one that he deemed worthy of introducing to his friends, anyway, and you all took turns playing armchair therapist to rationalize why.

Still, Bradley seemed to take it all in stride.

As he always seemed to, Bradley shook his head and laughed quietly as he pulled away from the curb. Instead of arguing, carrying on with the bit as he sometimes did, the conversation fell into a natural lull as he allowed his usual playlist - comprised of eighties throwbacks and the occasional song from his days as a frat boy - to fill the cab of the Bronco.

While it should’ve been uncomfortable, silence with Bradley never was. Even in the beginning of your friendship, back when you were both bright-eyed and overwhelmed with the seemingly endless possibilities your futures seemed to hold, Bradley was was comfortable. And even back then, when your heart seemed to skip a beat every time he smiled at you - every time you were certain your skin would remain permanently on fire, every time you were certain your giddy laughter would give you away - it was always easy.

No matter how much time seemed to pass, no matter how many miles separated you, Bradley had always been a constant. And it seemed that no matter where in the world you found yourselves, when you reunited, there was an overwhelming feeling of returning home.

When you stopped to think about it, that comfort - that feeling of home, that stability - was what kept you from risking your friendship with Bradley.

Though you’d harbored an ever-growing, seemingly never fading, crush on him since the day you met, pushing for anything more came with a risk of losing him for good. Acting on those feelings, acknowledging them outside the confines of your own thoughts, meant risking everything you’d built.

The friendship you shared survived distance, months spent oceans apart; it survived seemingly endless stretches of time with limited communication; it survived deployments, periods of discomfort, moments of doubt, and everything in between because there was no pressure.

With Bradley, there were never any expectations.

Bradley had always been comfortable because with him, you felt the freedom to just exist. He never expected you to be anything other than yourself, accepted you for the person that you were, and saw the beauty in that. He never judged you for saying the wrong thing or having a bad day, never thought less of you for needing a shoulder to lean on. He never made you feel less than.

There was never a fear of fucking it all up but you knew the moment you crossed that line, the moment you allowed yourself to give in and fall completely in love with Bradley Bradshaw, you were opening yourself up for a heartbreak you’d only had nightmares of.

Before you could spiral further, fall into a pit of despair so deep it would take the rest of the weekend to climb out of, Bradley’s voice cut through the din inside your head. That voice, rasp a balm for your suddenly aching chest, rang in your ears as he declared, “Hate to interrupt your attempt to solve all the world’s problems, but we’re here.”

A cursory glance out the window confirmed his statement and you blinked as you took in the sheer size of it all. “Fritz really undersold this place,” you said, sparing Bradley a quick glance before eying the packed parking lot. “It’s massive.”

“I don’t know what I was expecting but I don’t think it was this.”

A hum of agreement was all that seemed necessary and even that was lost to the ether as Bradley parked and shut off the engine. While you were entranced by all the bar offered, eyes wide as you scanned the patio just to the side, he was quick to round the Bronco and open the door for you. He grinned when you shot him a look, eyes sparkling with a sort of mischief as he awaited your teasing comment about chivalry, but you both remained quiet for a moment as you crossed the parking lot.

The bar itself looked like something plucked from your fondest childhood memories; a clash of past and present with an arcade facade, a mini-golf course, batting cages, and a go-kart track out back, all accompanied by a few bars scattered around, and you were struck by a sudden wave of nostalgia as gravel crunched beneath your feet.

Bradley seemed to be, too, as he gestured to the course with a grin. “I think every mini-golf place I ever went to growing up had one of those bridges.” He pointed to an awkward length bridge, covering the short distance between holes split by a trickle of water meant to represent a river, and you laughed.

“At least they’re useful.” At that moment, a small group climbed single file over the bridge - when they could’ve easily just stepped over - and you hummed. “Well, sort of. All the ones on the Gulf Coast have random alligators.” Bradley’s laughter was cut short as he raised a brow, question of whether you meant real alligators or statues - or maybe both - but you only shrugged.

Though you hadn’t been stationed together in years, you’d kept up with one another. Any time you moved, packed it all up and traded this coast for that one, you shared the details with one another. Bradley had been sent photos from Florida - pictures of alligators and Disney and stormy beaches - while you were sent photos from Virginia and, after the fact, the middle of the ocean.

The only time either of you kept your relocation a secret was his initial return to Fightertown as it came after yours and he’d wanted to surprise you.

That line of conversation and the following contemplative silence didn’t last very long as Bradley spared you a glance. “What were you thinking so hard about on the drive? Thought I saw smoke coming out of your ears.”

Bradley was often direct with you, asked questions you would sometimes prefer not to answer, but there was no chance you intended to share your line of thinking. He would get it, you knew that, but the conversation was unnecessary as you were doing just fine hiding it all. So, you shook your head and offered him your best smile. “Doesn’t matter. Just a long week.” That wasn’t technically a lie, it had been a painfully long week, but he didn’t need to know that all thoughts outside of him ceased to exist the moment you stepped out your front door to see him waiting for you. Instead, you attempted to redirect by gesturing to the batting cages. “We starting or ending there?”

There was a look in his eyes that made you fearful he would continue his line of questioning, one that said he didn’t believe you, but he seemed to think better of pushing. “I was thinking we end there,” he reasoned as he glanced over and offered you a half-smile. “Build the suspense, you know?”

“Or get enough drinks in that neither of us will be up to our usual.” It was playfully accusatory, teasing in a way that felt so natural with Bradley, and you felt a small sense of triumph as he laughed.

“You were in a batting cage, I was day drinking,” he reminded you, snickering as he repeated your quip from earlier in the week. When you cut your eyes at him, his smile seemed to double in size. “A beer or two won’t have any impact at all on my batting average, Angel.”

“I’d like to say that I’m surprised,” you sighed as you stepped through the front door, “but I don’t think I am.”

Bradley rolled his eyes fondly as he followed you inside, close behind to keep from being separated. “C’mon,” he urged, “first round’s on me.”

Knowing Bradley, every round would be on him. He’d insisted since being reunited, declared he was making up for lost time when he dragged you out on nights he knew you’d rather be in bed, but you knew better. Bradley was better with actions than with words - small gestures, such as buying a round or completing an annoying to-do list task - and used them to show that he cared.

This was a conversation you’d had a dozen times before, a fight he never let you win, so you made no effort to argue as you headed for the bar.

The entire building was impressive, decorated to match the overall theme of childhood nostalgia with neon signs and patterned carpet. The walls were lined with old games - Pac-Man, Space Invaders, pinball machines - and it seemed that everywhere you turned, there was something new to discover.

Little conversation was shared at first as both you and Bradley were too busy marveling at the sheer size of the space. It was almost overwhelming, too many choices in one building, but soon, you were wandering through the vastness of it all in search of your next activity.

Much of the night passed in a blur of bright colors and loud noises. The games themselves were fun, easy enough when you had a drink in your hand - though you and Bradley both kept it light with only one drink each, too busy having fun to return to the bar and wait. Bradley’s presence, however, made it all the better.

Bradley kept you close as you weaved through the crowds, one hand at the center of your back - respectful, but still enough to have your breath catching in your throat with every press of his fingers as you felt the warmth of his palm through the material of your top.

While you opted against the go-karts and mini-golf, you’d already formulated a plan to return with the rest of the Daggers in tow. You and Bradley mapped it all out between games of skee ball and Crazy Taxi - you’d begin with go-karts, before the group started drinking, and end with the pair of you showing everyone up in the batting cages. It was perfect, silly and fun, and you found yourself forgetting everything that wasn’t the immense joy you were experiencing.

Hours passed in a haze of giddy laughter and jokes traded at the others’ expense before you finally made your way outside. With his hand still at the center of your back, slipping lower with every step, Bradley guided you to the batting cages with a grin.

“Alright, slugger,” he teased, eyes bright and glittering in the overhead lights as he gestured to the rack of bats. “Lady’s first. Show me how it’s done.”

With a playful shake of your head, you stepped away from Bradley and reached for a helmet and a bat. There was no doubt that he believed you - he believed nearly everything you said, whether he should have or not - but he was once a pitcher, too. It was an experience you shared, one few people you saw daily understood, and you knew this was less about you proving yourself and more about finding something you had in common and celebrating it.

The entire night was a way to spend time together doing something you both loved, something you rarely got to indulge in these days, and you were grateful he’d suggested it. Even as you stepped into the batting cage, weight of Bradley’s gaze heavy against your skin, you felt nothing but the giddy excitement you’d been experiencing since stepping foot into the bar.

Had it been anyone else, you might’ve felt nervous. The teasing, the playful jeering as you took a few practice swings, might’ve made you afraid of looking stupid. But this was Bradley. While he could be competitive, it was always playful - with you, anyway. This was fun and you knew he would cheer you on regardless, so you nodded when he asked if you were ready to start.

When the first ball came flying toward you, speed at the max setting, you inhaled deeply before taking a swing. The ball whistled as it soared high, a resounding ‘ping’ echoed through the cages and earned a few glances from passersby, and you felt a sort of relief as it flew into the net before bouncing back toward the return.

Laughter, amused and a little awed, rang out behind you as you caught Bradley shake his head from the corner of your eye. “You weren’t joking.”

“You almost sound surprised, Bradshaw,” you teased, though he didn’t - not in the slightest. “This one’s going to the left, top corner,” you informed him as you shifted your hips and waited for the next ball.

As it flew high and left with another sharp ‘ping,’ Bradley leaned against the barrier and folded his arms over his chest. “Where are we goin’ for dinner?” The question was asked with a smile, bright and tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “Your choice since I’m clearly going to be paying for it.”

“It’s not over ’til it’s over.” Even as you spoke, words interrupted by a huff of effort as you took a swing, Bradley seemed unconvinced. And, if he’d been as honest as you, he had every reason to be. With a laugh, you offered, “I was thinking about that place by the beach, the one with the cool patio.”

“Sure.” Bradley would’ve allowed you to choose regardless - and wouldn’t have let you pay for him, even if you proved to be an awful batter - because that was the kind of friend he’d always been. The restaurant on the beach was a shared favorite, however, a staple that you visited at least once a month, and you knew you would’ve likely ended up there, anyway. So, you felt little remorse about your choice, even as he continued. “You’re only two balls in but you win,” he relented, laughing as he lifted his soda to take a sip. “Where’s this one headed?”

“Straight up the middle.”

Between pitches, you spared him a glance over your shoulder. You expected him to look bemused, pretending to be put out by your ability, but there was a look in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place. His smile was fond, brighter than you expected, and you almost convinced yourself it was pride that had his shoulders set a little straighter as a passing pair praised your ability.

Even the brief notion that Bradley was proud of you, impressed by your ability in a way few others had been, was enough to warm you from within. Heat flooded your veins, much as it did every time he spared you a wayward compliment, and it took a conscious effort to keep yourself from preening under his scrutiny.

“Why am I not surprised you’re a place hitter?” His question was punctuated with another resounding ‘ping,’ followed by a ball flying into the net, as he shook his head once more. “Starting to think you were grown in a lab, Angel.”

It was clearly teasing, a soft jab accompanied by laughter, but you couldn’t help the bashful shrug as you readied yourself for another ball. His jokes about your perfection had become more frequent, accompanied by soft laughter, and though you knew he’d witnessed your flaws, it still made your skin prickle any time Bradley saw the good in you.

Still, you swallowed the warmth and tightened your grip on the bat. “Told you, batting cages while you were day drinking.” There was a brief pause as you took another swing, this hit a line drive to the left, before you admitted, “Softball and nursing school didn’t leave much time for fun or friends so, batting cage it was.”

“We would’ve been friends,” he declared, certain in a way you wished you could be - though you were grateful to have met him later in life. You knew yourself well enough to know that you likely wouldn’t have been able to handle the schoolgirl crush you’d formed almost immediately after meeting him, not then. But Bradley didn’t give you much time to dwell as he hummed, “We could’ve been day drinking and hitting the batting cages together.”

“I don’t know if I would’ve befriended frat boy Bradley.” Though you offered him a teasing grin, laughed when he rolled his eyes, you knew that you would have. You were half-certain that you would’ve found Bradley in any life and fallen just as hard, no matter the circumstances of your meeting. But you kept that realization to yourself as you teased, “His idea of fun sounds like it could end in an ER visit.”

“Would’ve given a student nurse some real life experience,” he reasoned, smile growing into something brilliant when you laughed. “But at least you admit it sounds like fun.” Bradley tipped his head then, brows furrowing as he watched you take another swing. “Why’d you play, though? Nursing always sounded hard enough without being an athlete, too.”

Over the years, you’d had more conversations with Bradley than you could count. There were very few topics that hadn’t come up as you shared nearly everything - your career, your friends, your hobbies, your interests, your hometowns - but family was one of them. And, in a long line of similarities, your reason for playing softball and his reason for playing baseball was rooted in family.

Bradley once mentioned that baseball was originally deigned something to do, a task that got him out of the house and incorporated him into the community when he and his mother moved to Virginia after Goose’s death. He once shared that it was something his father loved as a child, an alternate life path he could’ve taken, and indulging in it made him feel a little closer to the father he missed. He admitted that it made him feel weightless - long before he experienced true weightlessness in the cockpit of a jet - but he’d never asked you why.

It was just one of those things that went unspoken until it didn’t.

“Family,” you revealed, not bothering to turn even as he made a noise of understanding. “My grandmother played. She got married and had kids really young. Sports weren’t really a thing for women in her time, anyway, but there was a rec league in town. She was amazing; a switch hitter, place hitter, a damn good pitcher. If she’d been born a little later, she could’ve made a life for herself playing. But she wasn’t and she couldn’t. My mom tried to take after her but she never really got the hang of it. I was the only one who did, so, I guess I figured I had to be the one to live the dream for them.”

The weight of your rationale was not lost on Bradley, you knew that, but he was never one to push for more. That was enough, enough vulnerability for a batting cage in the middle of a crowd, so he shifted. “Do you still play?”

Once upon a time, after a handful of drinks and a few stories about the Naval Academy from the Daggers, Bradley shared the things he missed about college. Baseball was one of them as he hadn’t played since graduation. He’d been asked, a handful of times, to join in on the odd pickup game here or there but it wasn’t the same and you knew that. There was little a pickup game could do to recapture the feeling you’d experienced on a field with teammates but Bradley seemed to realize that you’d at least swung a bat since graduating.

“Sometimes,” you confirmed, finally sparing him a sideways glance. Those brown eyes followed your every move, every shift of your hips or flex of your foot, and you felt your skin prickle under his scrutiny. You shrugged, returning your gaze to the machine, and took a deep breath. “I join local leagues when I can, if I hear about them. It was easier when I was working at a hospital with civilian nurses but most of the time, they don’t really want me joining in. I can never promise I’ll be around for a whole season or that I can make it to everything. I get it, though. They want someone who’s going to be there.”

When the machine finally shut off, you turned to face Bradley. There was a look on his face that you couldn’t read - something contemplative, softer than you expected - as he declared, “Their loss. They’d be lucky to have you, Angel.”

Bradley’s sincerity was obvious, almost achingly so, and you felt your heart clench at his declaration. It meant more than you knew it should but before you could dwell, consider exactly how it made you feel, Bradley headed for the controls.

“Wait,” you called out, before he could press the ‘start’ button. “Don’t you want to bat? I feel like I’ve been in here forever.”

“Don’t mind me.” He smiled, this one real and bright, as he gestured to you. You stood, still inside the cage with a bat clutched in one hand, and lifted your gaze to meet his eyes. “I’m just enjoying the view.”

A storm of butterflies filled the pit of your stomach. Your skin heated, your heart thumped just a bit too hard in your chest, and you had to tip your head to hide your face as you shook your head. There was a slight edge to his voice, a deeper rasp that you’d only heard used at the Hard Deck - locked in conversation with pretty girls you watched him take home instead of you - and you were almost convinced you imagined it. However, before you could question it, Bradley laughed.

“Oh, you’re getting shy on me now? Really?” As desperately as you wanted to make some sort of witty quip, return his teasing with some of your own and hope that your voice didn’t shake, you could only attempt to swallow the warmth creeping up your chest as he pressed the button. “I’m having plenty of fun watching you, Angel. Keep going!”

There was a warmth to Bradley’s comment that seeped into your bones, warmed you from within. Bradley complimented you frequently, sought to make you - and other friends, including Natasha - feel proud, but this was different. There was a weight to everything he’d said throughout the course of the night you’d never felt before.

The weight of his statement, the softness with which he spoke, had your voice catching in your throat as you waited for the machine to start. Your heart continued to thunder in your chest, cheeks heating, but you attempted to disregard the feeling of Bradley’s gaze burning into your skin.

When you finally found your voice, heart still beating just a touch too fast even after the first hit, you shook your head. “One more round,” you relented, “and then you’re up, Bradshaw.”

If Bradley heard the waver in your voice, if he noticed the slight heave of your chest as you fought to even your breathing, he didn’t mention it. Instead, he nodded easily. “Of course. We have to end the night with a laugh,” he reasoned, poking fun at his own abilities. “You gonna be my relief hitter when I strike out?”

“It’s a batting cage, Roo.” It was meant to make you laugh, meant to ease the tension you knew he could see in your shoulders, but it worked as you leaned into a swing. “There are no strikeouts.”

Before he could counter, make some joke that would keep you laughing and fully ease you back into the moment, a passerby - who’d definitely had more than your one drink - yelled, “Damn, man. Your girl’s killing it!”

“Yeah, she is.”

Three words, a simple acknowledgement of a drunken compliment, and you nearly missed the next pitch that flew toward you. It likely meant nothing to him - he likely hadn’t even noticed the man call you his girl - but if you weren’t careful, you knew this moment would play on a loop in the back of your mind.

It was intoxicating, the idea that someone else saw you as Bradley’s girl, but you made a herculean effort to stay focused on the task at hand as you took swing after swing. A handful of passersby continued to cheer, drunken words of encouragement rang out with every ball you sent soaring, but Bradley kept quiet as you flew through the remaining pitches on the machine.

There were no witty quips, no jokes, and you were grateful for the relative silence as you allowed the repetitive motion to calm your rapidly beating heart.

Finally, when the machine reached zero and you’d reached a state of semi-normalcy, you turned to watch as he grabbed his own helmet and bat.

Bradley approached with a smile, though it was softer than it had been all night - gentle, almost timid in a way you’d never seen him - and brushed your shoulder with his own as you passed in the entryway. Though it was far from the first time he’d touched you, a jolt of electricity flew through your body at the contact and you struggled to inhale deeply as you offered him what you hoped to be a teasing grin.

“Alright, frat boy,” you hummed, voice quieter than you intended but still playful enough, “show me what you’ve got.”

The quip made Bradley laugh, even as he shook his head at the nickname. “Prepare to be woefully underwhelmed, Angel,” he teased, offering you a grin as he settled into his stance.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

With a nod from Bradley, you pressed the ‘start’ button and watched as the first pitch flew toward him. And, with that very first swing, you knew he’d been telling the truth.

Bradley’s first attempt ended in a foul ball, right off the tip of the bat, and the second fell just a little too close to his hands. His third was a complete miss, though he made a decent effort, and you lifted your hand to cover your mouth in an attempt to stifle your laughter.

There was no telling how much of this was an act - playing up his lack of ability to make you laugh, to make you feel better about your own prowess - but you couldn’t help yourself as you winced when he dropped his shoulder and missed a third ball.

“Nevermind. You really are a shitty batter, Bradshaw.”

“Funny, that’s what every coach I’ve ever had said.” When you laughed, shaking your head at his self-deprecating joke, Bradley took another swing. With another miss, he spared you a quick glance over his shoulder. “This is why I was a pitcher,” he acknowledged, glancing at a ball that rolled past his feet. “Next time, we’ll go to a field somewhere and I can redeem myself.”

“No redemption necessary. I believe you’re a good pitcher,” you promised him, laughing as he jolted away from a ball spiraling too close for his comfort. “Pitchers aren’t supposed to be able to hit.”

Bradley made yet another attempt and you nearly clapped as this one connected and flew into the top right corner. With it, Bradley laughed. “That’s the best you’re gonna get,” he declared, smiling as he spared you another glance. “Press stop for me, Angel?”

With a laugh of your own, you pressed the ‘stop’ button and waited a moment for Bradley to exit the batting cage. As he stepped out, returned his helmet and bat, you took a moment to study him.

Bradley Bradshaw was beautiful. Though you kept your feelings for him a closely guarded secret, everyone knew you found him attractive. You weren’t the only one who thought so, especially on those nights he wore the jeans that hugged his thighs just right to the Hard Deck - especially on the nights he wore his Hawaiian shirt unbuttoned, collar of his undershirt weighed down by aviators and exposing a sliver of sun kissed skin - but you were always struck by just how pretty he was up close.

Though you’d never been much of a fan of the mustache - a commonality on every base you’d ever been stationed at, especially among pilots - it worked for Bradley. It suited him and you were glad he hadn’t been talked out of it yet.

Even on the toughest of days, Bradley always offered you a smile. He made it a point to be honest with you, to tell you when he felt rough or when he’d seen better days, but he always left having shared at least one smile. It was always encouraging, always there when you needed it, and you were grateful that Bradley deemed you worthy of his smile.

And those eyes - warm and beautiful, always so expressive whenever he regarded you - never failed to make you weak in the knees. With every gaze you shared, with every glance exchanged, you found yourself falling deeper into a hole you knew you would never be able to climb free from.

However, as Bradley turned to you, you felt the air escape your lungs as you began to realize that you were alright with never being able to climb free.

As afraid as you were that the comfort you found in Bradley would be lost should you allow yourself to fall completely, you realized that he would never allow that.

Bradley had been a part of your life for years, there for you through the best and worst moments of your life. No matter what happened, he’d proven to be a constant - a home for you to return to in even the most troubling of times. There was never any doubt that he would remain in your life, even if you learned what it was to love and lose Bradley Bradshaw, and you began to accept that.

In a stunning moment of realization, you came to the understanding that should you choose to give this a try, should Bradley want you in the way that you wanted him, he would do everything in his power to be there for you regardless. And should he not want you - though, as you finally gave yourself the space to consider, you wondered if the things you rationalized as friendship actually meant more to him - he would never leave you out in the cold.

Even if everything that could go wrong did go wrong, even if a relationship happened and ended in heartbreak, you were confident that Bradley Bradshaw would remain constant.

After years of stability, years of love and patience, there was little that could push him away.

“Angel?” Bradley’s voice broke through the haze, drew you out of your thoughts and back to reality as you blinked at him. He frowned, concerned, and took a half-step closer as he studied your face. “Are you okay? I lost you for a minute.”

“Yeah, I’m okay.” With a smile, you gave Bradley a nod - hopefully convincing him that you were, in fact, alright - before gesturing to the mini-golf course. “I think we played everything inside but there’s always mini-golf, if you want to keep playing. But I’m good if you want to call it a night.”

“I think my pride’s taken a severe enough hit,” he teased, expression relaxing slightly as he glanced toward the parking lot. “Let’s get you home. It’s almost past your bedtime, anyway.”

Though you rolled your eyes, you shook your head fondly as Bradley fell into step beside you and began heading slowly toward the Bronco.

The question you’d wanted to ask for a long while - whether Bradley wanted the relationship you did, whether he saw you win the same light - lingered on the tip of your tongue. After years of wondering ‘what-if,’ you finally allowed yourself to ask the question aloud.

“Bradley?” Warm brown eyes met yours, soft and still slightly concerned, as he hummed his acknowledgement. “Is this…” You weighed your words for a moment, considering, before you finally settled on a question. “Are we on a date right now?”

A soft, half-smile lifted the corner of Bradley’s mouth as he reached into his pocket in search of his keys. It was almost bashful, the way he ducked his head, and you swallowed to keep yourself grounded as you waited.

“I wanted it to be,” he admitted, voice quiet as the din of the bar began to fade. “I was going to really ask, make it obvious that’s what I wanted, I just…”

Bradley’s hesitation felt familiar. His shrug, noncommittal and questioning, was the same thing you found yourself doing whenever Natasha questioned why you refused to make a move. There was a tinge of fear in the pink dusting his cheeks, in the set of his shoulders as you approached the Bronco, and you held your breath as he shook his head.

“I like being your friend. I’m happy to be your friend,” he stressed, coming to a stop at the passenger side of the Bronco. In the dim light of the parking lot, Bradley’s eyes glittered as they met yours. “I haven’t spent this long being your friend as some sort of consolation prize, worried you didn’t like me back. This isn’t settling and I don’t see our friendship as less than a relationship,” he assured you, soothing a worry you’d buried deep - one he likely sensed all along. “I just… I always knew it wasn’t the right time, we were both trying to establish ourselves. But when we were apart, I thought about you all the time. I missed you all the time, more than anyone else.”

Knowing that Bradley valued your friendship first, believed it to be important - worth as much as romantic love, not something he simply settled for in place of something he’d rather have - made your chest ache as you reached out to place a hand on his bicep.

“I missed you, too, Bradley.” When his eyes met yours, smile soft and gaze so reverential it nearly stole your breath, you couldn’t help but take a half-step closer.

Bradley remained quiet for a moment, as if considering his words, before he smiled bashfully. “I’ve always thought about this,” he admitted, hand lifting to cup your cheek. His palm seared your skin, warm and heavy and a comfort you’d wished for for years, and your breath caught in your throat as he continued.

“Why now?”

It wasn’t a question you needed an answer to, not at that moment - not under the buzz of a streetlight and in the view of drunken strangers - but it seemed important as you struggled to focus on anything other than the warmth of Bradley’s skin pressed to yours.

“Mav. He got his second chance with Penny,” Bradley reminded you, voice soft. “We never lost touch but this was another chance. I couldn’t let this one pass me by.”

“Kiss me.” Bradley smiled then, clearly pleased by your request, and leaned in. He pressed his lips to yours in a soft kiss, a chaste peck, and you nearly laughed at the feeling of his facial hair brushing your skin. His lips, slightly chapped, were warm and you lifted a hand to the back of his neck as you mumbled against his mouth, “Like you mean it, Roo.”

With a half-step, you pressed yourself impossibly closer and released the years of longing you’d suffered into the kiss. Fireworks popped behind your eyelids, blood simmered in your veins as heat engulfed your entire body, and you wondered if every kiss would be this wonderful as Bradley’s free hand fell to your waist. His fingers pressed into your hip, lips working against yours, as everything around you ceased to exist.

Despite the heat of the night, the dimness of the parking lot, you would’ve been content to remain there for the rest of the night. All that mattered was Bradley, his body pressed to yours as years of longing were swept away, but all too soon, a loud cheer broke through the blissful haze.

A group of drunken passersby cheered, whistled and encouraged you both as they wandered through the parking lot to meet an Uber, and you pulled away from Bradley with a laugh. As you tipped your head to hide your smile, mild embarrassment heating your skin, you decided that the moment still couldn’t have been better.

Bradley seemed to agree as he grinned and brushed a thumb across your cheekbone. “I can’t bat to save my life but I think tonight was a home run,” he teased, laughing as you groaned at the pun. “C’mon, let me take you home.”

“Please. Before I decide I’ve had enough of the awful jokes and leave you hanging.”

Years had passed in which you suffered through Bradley’s awful jokes with a patient smile and a disbelieving laugh. There was little you wouldn’t do for him, even less he wouldn’t do for you, but you were still left giddy by his rolling eyes. “There’s no getting rid of me now,” he promised, laughing as he started up the Bronco. “We’re in it for the long haul.”

It was a promise, one that you hoped he’d be able to keep, and you felt a surge of hope for the future.

There was no expectation for the rest of the night, no pressure as you made your way back to your place, and you were content with that. Neither of you said much on the drive, simply allowed yourselves to exist together, and for the first time, you had no worries about ‘what-if.’ Instead, there was only the thought of ‘what could be.’

A deeper conversation had to be had, you both knew that, but there would be time for that later. There was an entire future awaiting you both.

And instead of wishing it to arrive so soon, you focused solely on the moment at hand.

As Bradley walked you up the sidewalk, palm warm in your own, you made no effort to wipe the smile from your lips. The giddy feeling in your chest made you feel as if you were walking on air, excited for the possibilities that now seemed endless.

The unknown was always terrifying and there was no guarantee for the future - no guarantee for anything more than the moment at hand. But Bradley Bradshaw had always been a constant. He’d been by your side for years, steady and true and loving. He was home, a light in the dark, and he was right; with him, you’d certainly hit a home run.

___________________________________________________

Author’s Note: It has been a Shit week. I’m going to go rewatch Top Gun and lay in the dark for a while. Enjoy the friends to lovers fun.

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