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Since being settled in a permanent squadron, Bradley’s had to see the Daggers almost every day. He never would have expected it, but he doesn’t mind everyone becoming a necessary part of his day to day.
Especially with Mav staying with them, it feels nice to finally make up for those lost years. Even if there’s always the looming fact that they spent years without talking present, they’ve gotten better at going back to normal.
Which is almost something Bradley wishes they hadn’t done, because Mav’s been coddling him almost all morning.
“Bradley, you’ve been up since six this morning.” Mav tries as they both sit down to have breakfast.
Bradley pokes at his egg with his fork, keeping his head ducked low. “I got up for a run. Why were you up at six in the morning?”
He knows it’s a childish retort, but his brain isn’t working to the best of its abilities it seems.
“I always get up early, and you don’t. It won’t kill you to take a day off work, kid, especially if you’re sick.”
“I’m not sick.” Bradley insists, sounding incredibly serious, but the sniffle he lets out after doesn’t help his case. He cuts some of his egg and shoves it into his mouth, hoping it’ll delay him from answering whatever Mav says next.
“When you were a kid,” and Bradley’s already groaning before the sentence is over. “You’d kill for a sick day off school. When you were faking you used to put Carole’s blush on your face to try and convince me, remember?”
“Uncle Mav.” Bradley whines quietly, swiping his hand over his eyes. He’s hoping Mav’s blinded by the wave of the nostalgia that the name brings so he can put his plate away and get out of the kitchen.
It somewhat works, because he’s almost out of the kitchen door when Maverick calls him. He spins on his heels, meeting Mav’s eyes. It takes everything in him to hold in the cough bubbling up in the back of his throat.
“You barely ate your breakfast.” Mav states, a concerned frown on his face. Bradley can’t bring himself to speak, because he’ll end up having a coughing fit.
Instead of talking, Bradley just nods. Mav’s expression quickly turns from worried to unimpressed, like what’s happening has finally clicked in his head.
“Get it out, Bradley.” He says it sincerely, but there’s an undertone of sarcasm to it.
Bradley lets out a weak, barely audible ‘thank you’ before he falls into a fit of non stop coughing. He hears Mav’s chair scrape against the floor, then the sound of footsteps.
When it calms down and he clears his throat harshly for the last time, Mav’s standing in front of him with a tablet and a glass of water.
Mav still looks hesitant about letting Bradley go on to work, but he’s realised it’s no use. “At least take this before going on base.”
Bradley smiles sheepishly before taking one thing in each hand. When Mav walks out of the kitchen, retreating back to his bedroom, he takes the medicine and swallows it down with the water. He coughs slightly after, courtesy of his hatred of taking pills.
He shakes it off before putting on his shoes and grabbing his essentials - his keys, his wallet and his phone. Lastly, he calls out goodbye to Mav, and then he’s on his way.
Even walking is a nightmare, his bones feel heavy and almost like he has to drag them along. He manages to hop into the Bronco, though. He basically deflates whenever he sits down, his head falling back as he sighs loudly.
He watches his shaky hands grip onto the steering wheel, considering Mav’s words but quickly forgetting about it. Sickness be damned, he’s going into work.
The journey to Top Gun is definitely eventful; having to pull over multiple times to make sure he isn’t going to throw up, multiple sneezing fits, along with a small number of random muscle pains. He does make it, he’s late, but he makes it there in one piece.
He stumbles into the briefing room, instantly attracting the attention of everyone in there. He keeps his head down, avoiding the bright light, and shuffles into a seat on his own. He’s so caught up in his own head that he doesn’t realise there are people beside him until one of them clears their throat.
He blinks as he looks up, seeing Phoenix and Bob had slid into the same row as him while he was distracted. It was obviously Natasha who had cleared her throat with her expecting look directed at him.
“Morning.” Bradley croaks, cringing inwardly at how stuffy he sounds.
“Jesus, Rooster,” Natasha starts, somehow sounding heavily amused but also worried. She’s one of the hardest people to read that Bradley’s ever met. “Are you sick?”
“No.” He answers immediately, only having heard the question a small number of times today and already sick of it - even if he’s going to be asked it numerous more times.
Natasha gives him that look, that all too familiar look. That look he’d get from his mom or Mav when they knew he was lying. He literally did get it from Maverick that morning.
He groans, looking forward and shutting his eyes. He hopes that Natasha and Bob leave him alone, or at least sit in silence.
“Is it only the flu?” Bob asks curiously, picking up on Bradley’s grimace when he keeps talking. He smiles lightly, hoping to soften the landing.
Bradley nods, even though it’s a lie. Even though he’d woken up at five am with a churning feeling in his stomach, even though Mav had caught him cleaning up in his bedroom. Even though it hurts to move his neck, but that could just be from sleeping wrong. His brain is too scattered to think properly.
Suddenly he’s brought back to reality with a pair of fingers clicking right in front of his face.
"You’re way too out of it to fly.” Phoenix states simply, like she’s leaving no room for argument.
“You don’t get to decide that for me.” Bradley huffs stubbornly, even though he’s dreading going up in the air. He’s hoping Maverick will take it easy, knowing he’s not well and all, and let them stay in the briefing room.
“You’re such a stubborn shit,” Phoenix rolls her eyes. “I’m being serious, Bradley, unless you want to crash then you’re not flying.”
Bradley groans way louder than necessary, slouching down more in his seat. He feels like if he keeps his eyes closed for any longer he’s going to fall asleep, and he’s right about to fall into that trap.
“I’m telling on you to medical.”
“Tasha,” Bradley whines, immediately feeling embarrassed after. She just smirks. “I’m fine to fly, Nat, I swear. It’s only a cold.”
There’s no room for Natasha to talk back because Maverick’s walking into the room, making himself known at the front of the room by clearing his throat. Bradley smirks at her, while Natasha glares at him.
They’re flying.
Bradley doesn’t let his annoyance be known, trying to show Natasha up by seeming like he doesn’t mind. He does mind, a whole lot.
It almost feels like Maverick is doing this to spite him, showing him he could be at home resting, but he chose this. He almost regrets being so stubborn, but the other part of him feels the need to show he can’t be stopped just because of being ‘sick’ - which he barely is.
Dog fights are normally something Rooster enjoys, so he tries putting up a front that shows he’s excited, but no one really seems to believe it. They all saw him come in that morning.
As he settles into his plane, adjusting his helmet, he feels wobbly. He feels like his body is hollow, but so so heavy. He draws in a slow breath, having unrealistic hope it’ll set everything back to normal.
Before the exercise begins, Maverick is approaching him again.
“Rooster.” Mav starts, trying to gain his attention. Bradley turns his head sluggishly, lifting his chin up in greeting.
“Maverick.” Bradley slurs out tiredly after a few seconds.
“Bradley, you don’t have to go up. You’re sick,” Maverick says, knowing the response before it comes. “Don’t even try to tell me you aren’t. No one’s going to say anything if you aren’t in for one day.”
“I’m ready to go up, Captain.” Bradley says firmly, hoping it’s clear he’s serious and not about to change his mind any time soon.
Mav sighs, but lets him go.
Bradley’s not surprised when he’s one of the first out. No one is, really.
He’s happy to fly back onto base and land, unusually content after being one of the first down. He stays in his plane for a while, just leaning back with his eyes closed. He doesn’t actually remember what he was doing or what was going on around him, so he can’t tell if he fell asleep or not.
All he knows is his eyes fly open when he’s startled by a knocking on the side of his plane. He’s greeted by the sight of a cocky Jake Seresin, grinning down at him.
He groans, rubbing his hands over his eyes repeatedly after popping off his helmet and climbing out.
“Heya, Hangman.” Rooster greets, not even attempting a smile like he’d usually do.
“Mornin’, Roo. You don’t seem yourself today.” He isn’t saying it as a matter of concern, he’s teasing.
“I guess not.” Bradley replies lamely, walking on ahead of Jake to get back inside.
Jake’s hot on his heels though, never far behind. “Not your best up there, huh? Come on, was that all you were willing to give?”
“Hangman.” Rooster grits out through his teeth, like a warning, suddenly feeling dizzy and unsure on his feet.
“I knew you were easy to beat but not that-”
Rooster tunes him out, suddenly in desperate need of a bedroom. He’s quick to leave Hangman, running inside the building.
He feels so lost, suddenly forgetting where everything is. He falls against a door, and looks up to find it’s a mens’ bathroom. He’s never been so thankful for tripping over his own feet, because he knows otherwise he’d completely miss it.
He stumbles into the bathroom, immediately making his way into a stall. He doesn’t have the time or energy to lock the door, let alone close it, before he’s fallen to his knees in front of the toilet bowl.
It’s a while before he’s finished, and having to resist his childish habit of wiping around his mouth with his sleeve. He’s startled by the light sound of whistling coming from behind him.
“So,” Hangman draws out, looking somewhat panicked but obviously trying to remain calm. “You’re sick?”
Rooster looks away, reaching for the flush multiple times and missing. He waits until after he’s pulled it and it quitens down to respond.
“I’m sick of - of you.” He replies slowly, almost like his brain is struggling to put his thoughts into words.
Hangman just chuckles, sounding heavily amused. Bradley doesn’t know when Jake came into the bathroom stall, but now he’s being offered both of the younger man’s hands. He accepts, only because he’d barely be able to get up by himself.
Bradley avoids eye contact, immediately untangling his hands from Jake’s. “Thanks.”
Jake, honest to god, smiles at him. “You need water, or something? A ride home?”
“Home? The day’s barely started.” Bradley fights, trying to walk out of the bathroom. He’s not surprised when Jake’s chasing after him.
“You’re stupid if you think I’m letting you stay at work in the state you’re in, Bradshaw.”
“Wow, thanks. You really know how to make a guy feel good about himself.” He replies bitterly, but he knows he doesn’t look his best right now.
He caught sight of himself in the mirror while leaving the bathroom. He now gets why everyone could so obviously tell he was sick. His skin is patchy, and his eyes are abnormally dark and puffy. His nose was irritatingly red and his lips were dry.
“Come on, Rooster, let me take you home.”
Bradley grins almost instantly, and Jake can feel the quip that’s coming. “Take me out to dinner first, Seresin.”
“Yeah, okay, I walked right into that one,” Jake admits, hands in the air in mock surrender. “Seriously, though.”
Rooster rolls his eyes but nods, giving up on trying to fight. He leans against Jake as they walk, Bradley assumes to find Maverick. He hopelessly trails alongside Hangman, his eyes barely able to stay open.
He can’t recall any events from then until they’re in Jake’s truck. He blinks, looking around in a confused manner.
“You’re okay, everything’s fine,” Jake reassures. “You’re in my car. You can go to sleep, if you need to.”
Bradley doesn’t say anything, doesn’t trust himself to, and hums contently instead. He relaxes into the seat, letting his head rest against the cool glass of the window.
“Rooster? Rooster, dude, wake up.”
Bradley groans loudly, shuffling in his seat, which results in him banging his head against the window.
“Ow,” Bradley hisses, finally opening his eyes and sitting up. He roughly rubs his forehead. “What the hell?”
“We’re at your house.” Jake says simply and clicks out of his seatbelt.
Jake doesn’t need Bradley to ask or to struggle before he’s climbing out of his seat and rounding the car to open Bradley’s door. He waits until Bradley’s out of his seat belt before holding his hand out.
He helps Bradley into the hour, not letting their hands break apart. Panic starts to set in Jake when he tries to open the door and realises it’s locked.
“Please tell me you have keys.”
Bradley rolls his eyes and rummages through his pockets. “Of course I have a key.”
He hands it to Jake, knowing he’s too weak to even attempt to open the door. As soon as he heard the click of the door opening he was rushing inside, desperate to change out of his flight suit.
He hears Jake’s small ‘woah, okay’ behind him, since their hands were still intertwined. He bites back a smile and shakes their hands apart.
“Do you need anything? Do you guys have soup?” Jake asks, sounding weirdly genuine.
“Check the cupboard beside the fridge.” Bradley answers quickly before dragging himself up the stairs, clutching the bannister with every step.
He doesn’t even feel like changing when he reaches his room, instead just falling face first onto his bed. He sighs into the mattress, relishing the comfort and softness.
He doesn’t move until he hears footsteps, growing louder and louder.
“God, Rooster. Need help with everything, do you?” And it’s weird, because Jake isn’t annoyed and he isn’t genuinely frustrated. It sounds teasing and it sounds fond.
“Shut up, Bagman,” Rooster mumbles into the mattress, eyes slowly creaking open. “I can get changed myself, thanks.”
Jake sets a bowl down on the bedside table then eyes Bradley sceptically. “Are you sure?"
“God, yes, I’m sure. I’m sick, not a child.”
“Okay, okay. I hear you loud and clear, Lieutenant.” Jake mocks, turning to leave the room. Bradley watches him go, the smile finally making itself known on his face now that Jake can’t see him.
There’s a few obstacles, like the random pain shooting through his arms or losing his balance, but he changes into sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt without any major problems. He falls down on his bed again, leaning against the stack of pillows in front of the frame, reaching for the bowl of soup, still warm and burning under his touch.
“You can come in.” Bradley calls, because he can see Jake’s shadow behind the door through the small gap at the bottom.
As soon as Jake opens the door, “You’re going to spill that.”
Bradley glares up at Jake, the spoon held just in front of his mouth. He scoffs, “No I’m not.”
“You’re shaking.” Jake points out.
Bradley looks down, huffing out in annoyance when he realises Jake is right. He tries to still his hand, but to no avail.
When Bradley looks up at Jake, he’s not surprised at the ‘I told you so’ look he’s sporting.
“Here,” Jake steps forward, approaching the bed. “Give me the bowl.”
Bradley's eyebrows furrow and his mouth opens slightly in horror. “You are not feeding me.”
“I can leave you to spill it all over yourself, if you want.” Jake says smugly, folding his arms over his chest.
Bradley wordlessly drops the spoon into the soup and lifts the bowl up to Jake. The stern and stubborn look Bradley has is what urges Jake to grab the bowl.
Jake nods his chest at the side of the bed. “Okay if I sit here?”
With his now free hands, Bradley grabs a blanket beside him and wraps it tight around his shivering frame. It looks ratty and worn, definitely old. “Knock yourself out.”
Jake settles himself down awkwardly on the edge of the bed, making Bradley laugh quietly. It’s low and hollow due to his scratchy throat, but Jake still picks up on it.
“I don’t bite, Seresin.” Bradley teases, shuffling further over in the bed as a hint. Jake rolls his eyes.
Jake doesn’t say anything, just silently offers Bradley a spoonful of the soup. Bradley slowly nods his head, letting the embarrassment swallow him whole as he parts his lips. Jake looks happy, and it’s confusing the hell out of Bradley’s tired brain.
Bradley swallows down the food, somehow enjoying the feeling of it simultaneously burning and soothing his throat. He shuts his mouth after, silently declining the next spoonful Jake was holding up.
Jake urges him for an answer by raising his eyebrows. Do you need anything? Is something wrong?
Bradley hates how the genuine concern warms his heart.
“This is humiliating.” Bradley deadpans, slipping his hand up to his mouth and biting around his nails. Jake looks at him disapprovingly which just adds fuel to the fire.
“Nothing humiliating about needing help or a break."
Which is a laugh and a half coming from Jake Seresin; the guy who’s never once had the guts to ask for help or a sick day once in his life. Bradley almost does laugh but is cut off by a harsh cough directed into his balled up fist.
The small cough seemed to be the beginning, a round of coughing following it. It leaves his throat feeling raw and scratchy, desperate for something to soothe it.
He eyes Jake quickly before opening his mouth again, a smile forming on Jake’s face when he does.
He gets through most of the soup before deciding he’s done. He lets Jake know this by turning on his side and laying down. Jake chuckles, setting the bowl on the bedside table.
“Do you need something for your fever, or are you okay?”
Bradley shakes his head, humming nonchalantly as his eyes flutter closed. He feels the familiar state of sleep wash over him, not fully before he hears Jake whisper.
“Night, Roo.”
And his bedroom door creaks closed.
"Not night." Bradley mumbles to no one.
Bradley wakes up drowsy and with a pounding headache.
It takes him a few harsh blinks and forcing himself to sit up to register what had happened before he fell asleep. He immediately pushes himself up, making him wobbly on his feet and giving him patchy eyesight.
He makes his way downstairs, as quick as he can, not forgetting to keep his blanket wrapped around his body. He ends up standing in the living room doorway, watching Jake as he sits on the couch mindlessly. Like this is where he lives.
Bradley, shockingly, really isn’t opposed to that idea.
“Jake.” Bradley croaks out, letting Jake know he’s awake before he somehow startles him.
Jake’s head turns to look at Bradley and he smiles softly. Bradley doesn’t know if it’s the sickness that’s making him weak in the knees, at this point.
“Hey, sleepyhead. Sit down, I’m goin’ to get you something for your fever.”
And before Bradley can protest, Jake’s shoulder is brushing past his (albeit blanket covered) to go into the kitchen. Bradley just sinks down into the couch, accepting his fate.
Jake returns to the room with a wash rag and sits down on the edge of the couch.
“Are you warm?”
“Warm, yet feel so cold.” Bradley complains weakly.
Jake huffs out a small laugh before brushing Bradley’s hair away from his forehead and placing the cool rag on the burning skin. Bradley lets out a small sigh, closing his eyes.
“Is it okay?” Jake cautions, carding his fingers through some of the stray hairs on Bradley’s forehead.
“Perfect.” Bradley answers, a content smile tugging on his lips.
Bradley blinks open his bleary eyes slowly, only able to focus on Jake looking down at him.
He can’t imagine how he looks right now, especially side by side with Jake; who looks perfect. Hair untouched, smooth skin, dressed well. Just the opposite of everything about Bradley.
Jake stares at him quizzically, like he’s trying to figure out what Bradley’s thinking.
Bradley slowly pushes himself up, bringing Jake out of his trance. He starts to slide further down the couch but is stopped by Bradley’s clammy hand wrapping around his wrist. Jake’s head flashes up, eyes shining with curiosity.
“Stay. Stay close.”
Jake looks into Bradley’s eyes, glossy and soft. Genuine. He feels his heart pounding in his chest, like it’s trying to break free and latch onto Bradley.
He wants Jake to stay. Jake wants to stay.
“Yeah, of course. Anything you need.” Jake whispers, feeling the heat creeping up his neck.
Bradley’s hand, previously holding onto Jake’s wrist, slides down to Jake’s hand. He intertwines their hands.
Jake leans in first, connecting his lips with Bradley’s. He doesn’t have time to worry about misreading the situation before Bradley’s kissing him back, moving quickly and desperate.
Jake’s free hand moves to cup Bradley’s cheek, pulling him up and closer. Bradley hums into the kiss, breaking out into a grin.
“Gonna get you sick.” Bradley murmurs against Jake’s lips when they pull apart.
Jake shrugs nonchalantly. “Don’t care.”
He presses their lips together again.