Auther: bradshaw-fanclub

The residual effects of anxiety and fear are still coursing through your system, just having watched Coyote plummet towards the ground while stuck in G-lock. You fly your F-18 to the left side of Maverick’s, Phoenix coming in on his right.

“That was close,” Phoenix’s voice comes over the radio and you nod, heart still beating too fast to really engage in conversation. 

You had never felt as helpless in your life as you did while you watched the pilot spiral towards his death during the mission simulation. Maverick says something over the radio, but you’re too focused on the memory of what he had told you at the start of training; this mission would push you and your jets to your breaking point. 

And you had just witnessed that. 

You’re startled back to the present, loud bangs landing upon the exterior of your combat jet and you vaguely hear Maverick yelling bird strike.

You flip into action too late, your jet jolting when two birds hit your engine. There’s yelling over the radio, Phoenix is hit too. You work in unison, both pulling your jets up to a higher altitude, Phoenix breaks right and you break left to put distance between the flaming engines. 

Bob sounds frantic over the radio. Maverick is yelling at them not to start their engine, yelling at you for an update. 

It’s chaotic. 

“I’ve lost my engine completely,” you tell him, voice strained as you try in vain to keep your jet in the sky. Maverick tells all of you to eject, you can still hear Phoenix trying to save her jet. 

Alarms sound through your cockpit, angry blinking lights warning you - 

“Oh, fuck,” you say, pulling your ejection. You’re launched from the jet, knocked breathless by the g-force. You feel the blast and the heat from your jet exploding in the sky before your vision goes black. 

⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡

Bradley listens to the radio every time you’re up in the air. He claims he does it for everybody, but he knows he’s a little extra attentive when it’s his girl in the sky. 

The simulation had been going smoothly, until Maverick made an appearance as a bandit who had spotted the formation of pilots.

Everything went downhill after that.

If he found it hard to listen to the commotion as Coyote fell into G-lock, the panic in the voices of the other aviators as they tried to pull Coyote out of it, then the freezing feeling in his heart after the bird strike, when he heard you tell Maverick that your engine was out, could have ended him there. 

It seemed like his world stopped spinning, the blaring of your system beeping its warnings at you echoing through the radio.

And the last thing he heard from you was “oh, fuck” before an explosion sounded outside, loud enough to be heard from the training room. 

He thinks he may have called out your name, feet carrying him from the room that suddenly seemed too small. 

He could see the remaining smoke in the sky, but not your parachute. He doesn’t remember when he started running, only the feeling of arms stopping him. 

“You can’t run out there, Rooster! They’ll get her with a rescue chopper!” He’s not even sure who’s yelling at him over the wind, mind full of what ifs and thoughts of you dead. 

Everything seems to happen so fast, time passing in a blur as he watches the helicopter land. Nobody stops to give him an update, he’s stuck watching as they wheel your limp body across the asphalt towards the medical center. He means to follow, but suddenly he can’t make himself move - too afraid that he’ll be told what he doesn’t want to hear. 

Too afraid he’s lost the love of his life. 

“You should go,” Maverick’s voice comes from somewhere, Bradley’s not sure, everything sounds like it’s echoing in some long tunnel, “they won’t release any information to you, but I’ll wait for an update from Admiral Simpson. You can at least be there when they allow visitors.”

“Do you think- fuck, Mav - is she okay?” Rooster’s voice comes out vulnerable, weak and Maverick doesn’t miss that it’s the first time Rooster doesn’t call him Captain Mitchell. 

“They’ll run some tests. I didn’t see her land, but hopefully the gear did it’s job. She’s a strong girl,” Maverick tries to comfort him, but truthfully he’s swarmed with memories of losing his wingman. 

So Bradley goes and he waits in the lobby of the medical center’s emergency department. He had checked in, vaguely remembers giving the lady at the desk his name and who he’s there for. He’s not on an emergency contact list, so he can’t get updates - but she must see the pain in his eyes, the worry on his face, and tells him that she’ll let him know when he can go back and see you. 

Hours pass, plenty of time for Bradley to come up with every possible scenario, for dread and hopelessness to crawl up his throat - seeming to choke him. His phone goes off throughout the time that passes, he had checked it the first couple of times; no update on y/n, Phoenix and Bob would be staying overnight in the hospital.

He stops checking after that, each buzz of his phone taunting him, foreshadowing bad news. 

“Rooster,” his head lifts from where he’s pressing his face into his hands. It’s Maverick.

“Did they get an update?” He asks and Pete sighs. 

“She’ll be okay, but -”

“Guest for y/n y/l/n,” the lady at the desk says and Rooster jumps up, pushing past Maverick because he has to see you.

He has to know you’re breathing and alive. 

There’s a doctor that guides him back to the room, gently tries to tell Bradley not to overwhelm you, that your head is in a sensitive place. Bradley thinks he says more, but he’s too focused on the pounding of his pulse in his ears. 

He passes through the threshold of the small hospital room that you’re in. Your eyes are closed, breathing slow but steady and -

fuck, you’re breathing, he thinks to himself, relieved, warm tears welling up in his eyes. The doctor pats his shoulder and excuses himself.

Bradley pulls up a chair next to the bed, takes your hand in his and presses a kiss to your knuckles. You stir lightly, but your eyes stay closed, a tired mumble passing through your lips. He won’t wake you, as much as he needs reassurance, because you’re alive and you’re here and that’s all he needs. 

He’s not sure how long he waits, dozing in and out of sleep as he holds your hand, his head resting against your thigh. At some point he gets up, risking a few moments away to pee and grab a coffee from the small hospital cafe. He stands by the window as he takes slow sips, he’s exhausted; the fear and anxiety having worn him down, the adrenaline having worn off.

The night sky is dark, stars hidden by clouds. The roads empty of cars except for a few late night drivers. 

He rubs at his eyes with the palm of his hands, tries to shake the sleep from himself and turns back to you. 

You’re awake. 

He lets out a breath, coming to your side to take your hand. 

You blink up at him and - 

And he’s struck with the realization that you’re not looking up at him in relief or worry or - 

or lovingly.

You’re staring up at him, eyes confused like you don’t recognize him - and his heart sinks. 

She’ll be okay, but, Mavericks voice echoes in his head and his blood runs cold. 

⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡

When you open your eyes again, the room is dim, bright lights no longer blinding you like they had when you first came to. The room is less busy than it was before, too; people in white coats and navy scrubs having crowded you. You didn’t know what had happened, a kind nurse filling you in on your accident and where you were before a dizzying, sinking feeling took over and your vision went black. 

But now it’s just you and the steady beat of the heart monitor - and a man standing next to the window. 

He’s tall, side profile handsome - even with the mustache that graces his face. He’s in a tan uniform, skin almost golden, muscles defined, shoulders broad. 

He looks exhausted and he confirms that thought by rubbing his eyes tiredly. He turns to you, a flash of relief across his face and he hurries over to your side and takes your hand in his larger one. His eyes are full of something loving, heartfelt and you feel a pang of guilt because you’re not sure who this man is. 

He must sense that, you can see his face fall, his hand giving yours a gentle squeeze. 

He clears his throat, eyes searching your face before he speaks, “how- how are you feeling?”

His voice is rich and warm, but gruff - like he’s been choking on unspoken emotions. 

“I - um,” you try, but shake your head. 

How can you express the feelings of not knowing who you are? 

You know your name, can remember going to senior prom, maybe a little bit of college, but after that you know nothing of yourself - nothing of the handsome man standing before you, holding your hand like he’s afraid to let you go. 

He sits in the chair pulled up next to your bed, a silence filling the room around you as you both search for words. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t - I’m having trouble remembering things - “ you admit and the sad nod of his head breaks your heart.

“Okay,” he says, voice gentle and broken, “Um - my name’s Bradley, but you call me Rooster.”

That startles a grin onto your face because… Rooster?

He notices, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, a sad chuckle escaping him, “I know, I know. Sounds silly.”

“And are we -?” you motion between the two of you and that causes him to squeeze your hand again. 

“Dating,” he fills in, “for a couple of years now.”

And the sad, sinking silence is back; because if what he’s saying is true, both of you have lost years spent together, only you can’t remember them and he’s stuck with the memory of them. 

“Were we happy?” you whisper into the silence and a sad smile sets on his face, loose tears streaking trails down his cheeks, the curve of his nose. 

“Yeah,” he nods, vulnerable and heart broken and you reach out to wipe the tears away. 

“I’m sorry,” your own voice shakes.

You wish you could remember him, this man that seems to love you so so much, this man that’s crying at your bedside because even though you’re here, he’s lost you. 

“Can you… can you tell me about us?” You ask and something lights up his eyes - hope, maybe. 

He nods and lets out a shaky breath, before starting at your beginning.