After going through a psych evals and a further physical, which included X-rays to check for internal damage, they were cleared by the flight docs and discharged from the hospital.
When they stepped out together into the parking lot, a horn sounded. Bob and Natasha turned to see Rooster hopping out of his Bronco and walking towards him. He had a big grin on his face. Bob felt a twinge of annoyance.
"Somebody call for an Über?"
"Not I," Natasha said flatly.
Bob frowned and adjusted his glasses. "We were told Hondo was picking us up."
"I told him I'd take care of it."
"Ok," Bob said with a shrug. He walked over to Rooster's Bronco but Natasha didn't move. Rooster peered at her over his aviators. "Or you could walk back."
"I could use the exercise," Natasha said dryly.
Bob turned back from tossing his gear in the bag and looked at her with concern.
"She's kidding, Bob. Come on, let's go."
Natasha sighed and went to pick up her gear from off the sidewalk but Bob grabbed it before she could.
"Thanks," she said awkwardly. She would've simply been grateful if Rooster hadn't been watching. She glanced at Rooster. He was wearing a small amused smile and she could just see him rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses.
After shoving her gear in, Bob slid into the backseat beside their stuff.
"Oh, Bob, you can ride shotgun," Natasha insisted.
"Oh, I'm used to the backseat, you can sit upfront," Bob replied, blissfully unaware of her discomfort.
Rooster's small smile became a smug grin. Natasha rolled her eyes and went around the car.
They drove in tense silence for the first minute. The air of resentment was coming off Natasha in waves, all directed at Rooster.
"What's wrong with you?" Rooster asked pointedly.
"Hangman came to visit us."
"To gloat, no doubt."
"No, he actually was there because he was genuinely worried about us … unlike some people."
Rooster shrugged, almost trying too hard to appear casual.
"Maverick said you were going to be okay and figured you wouldn't want the attention after a clusterf—" Rooster glanced at Bob in the rearview mirror. "—A clustercuss like that. Besides, you were only going to be there a short time. I'm here now, aren't I?"
Bob now regretted sitting in the backseat. The moniker of "Baby-on-Board" hit him with a vengeance. He felt like a child in the backseat of the family car with the parents bickering up front.
"And he even apologized for his shitty behavior at the bar."
Rooster did not reply but made a show out looking up at something through the windscreen.
Phoenix frowned and also scanned the skies. "What? What is it?"
"Just checkin' for flying pigs. Don't want a pig-strike on our hands."
Natasha burst out laughing. Even Bob chuckled a bit at the Python-esque image of winged swine getting sucked into their turbines, going wee-wee-wee all the way.
"Why can't I stay mad at you?" Phoenix sighed once she got her breath back.
Rooster flashed her a cheesy grin. "'Cause I'm cute?"
Natasha chuckled and groaned and pushed at his shoulder.
Now Bob really felt like an intruder. He selfishly wished they were back at the hospital.
Ah, well, they would be up in the air again soon, doing their thing, being a team of two, he had that with her at least. But, she and Rooster had history and clearly Phoenix had a bit of a crush on him as well. Bob just wanted to sink into the seat and disappear as a sudden sense of loneliness seemed to engulf him.
His face must have expressed some discomfort because Rooster suddenly asked,"You alright back there?" glancing at him through the rear view mirror again, a look of genuine concern on his face.
Natasha twisted in her seat, a worried frown on her face.
Bob flushed self-consciously. "Oh, just a small headache. I'll be fine."
Natasha studied him and bit her lip. "You sure? Should we turn around and go back to the hospital?"
"No, no. Just a little extra rest and I'll be right as rain."
Unfortunately, for Bob and Natasha, there would be no more down time once they returned to the main complex. After getting a shower and fresh clothes they had to fill out the multi-page incident report and sit through a lengthy debrief with Maverick and Coyote. Then the whole squadron was mustered to the hangar to be formally informed of the Admiral's passing and that they were to be attending the funeral that afternoon. With that, they were dismissed to change into their dress uniforms and reconvene at the hangar to carpool out to the cemetery at 1500.
…..
Fort Rosecrans National Cemetery couldn't have been more beautiful. The sea sparkled in the late afternoon sun and the breeze from the water sped up the hill to play about Natasha's face, threatening to set her cover askew as she stood at attention. Tears pricked her eyes as she watched Maverick perform his last duty over the coffin of his long-time friend.
Would she have to do this for Rooster one day?
Or Bob?
The sharp report of the rifle salute internally startled her out of her somber reverie.
She stole a glance at Bradley whose focus was entirely on Maverick. She could see resentment and sympathy warring on his face, his jaw muscles working as he clenched his teeth blinked back tears. Even though she was still peeved with Rooster for assuming how she felt after the accident and what she would or would not want, she now wanted to take his hand and tell him it would be okay. But they had to remain at attention. Besides, even if it were allowed, Rooster would have been embarrassed to have attention drawn to his emotions.
Natasha suddenly felt very alone.
Forcing her focus back on the ceremony she watched as Mrs. Kazansky received the folded flag.
Someday someone would be receiving a flag on her behalf, a day that had recently been too close for comfort. The few tears that had been building finally slipped down Natasha's cheeks and she couldn't stop them.
It was at that moment she felt something warm brush the back of her left hand, then a brief pressure on her fingers.
Bob.
She stole a glance at him from the corner of her eye. He was staring ahead as if still completely at attention.
"Here they come," she heard someone murmur and she looked up.
Two ever growing dots on the horizon heralded the flyover. As they approached Natasha's pulse quickened. And when they went screaming overhead her heart lifted with them as they climbed away from the grave and the earth; up, up into the sky where she belonged.
Up there with Bob.
….
"We're all going back to the Hard Deck to toast the Admiral," Jake announced as the squad crunched down the pebble walkway towards the parking lot. He lengthened his stride and caught up with Rooster.
"'Is it for fear to wet the widow's eye that thou consum'st thyself in single life?'" Jake recited in a very theatrical voice. Those within earshot looked at Jake as if he'd grown a second head.
"What the hell was that?" Rooster said slowly, one eyebrow raised. Natasha looked equally mystified but also slightly alarmed, the meaning had not escaped her. She glanced at Rooster.
"It's Shakespeare, you Philistines."
"Sonnet 9," Bob blurted out as he walked beside Natasha.
Jake grinned at the WSO over both Rooster and Natasha's heads. "See, I knew Bob would get it. Homeschoolers know these kinds of things."
A ripple of laughter went through the squad, some giving Bob speculative looks.
"There's nothing wrong with being homeschooled," Bob said hotly.
"I didn't say there was," Jake said with a rare earnestness. "It was a compliment."
Bob blinked in surprise, peered narrowly at him for a few wary seconds, then a tiny smirk lifted the corner of his lips. "Oh. Sorry. It's just that even your compliments sound like insults."
Those of the squad within hearing let out a collective oooooh.
Natasha grinned. Bob was surprisingly quick on the comeback at times for such a seemingly mild-mannered guy.
"So, were you homeschooled?" Asked Rooster suddenly.
Bob's grin faded. Prickles of sweat made his stiff collar itch. Payback, Fanboy, Hangman, Coyote, Rooster and Phoenix were all staring at him as they walked. Had Bob been a turtle, he would have ducked into his shell.
"I-It was a co-op. Just until junior high."
Coyote raised an eyebrow. "What's a co-op?
Bob swallowed. "Well … it's a network of other homeschooling families who meet once a week in classroom settings to go over the material. We were plenty socialized and we had to do the standardized testing like other school kids." Bob had said all this while mostly looking at Natasha.
Natasha gave him a gentle smile. "You don't have to defend yourself to me, Bob."
"Yeah, we were just curious," Payback added. He put his hands in pocket and shrugged. "I think it's pretty cool."
"Yeah, I mean, clearly, your education didn't suffer for it," Fanboy said.
"Just his social skills …" Rooster mumbled. Natasha darted a glare at him. Fortunately it seemed Bob had not heard him.
There was a brief dance in the parking lot as the squad spread out among cars. Bob and Natasha somehow ended up being driven by Rooster again, but this time Fanboy was with them.
"Bob, you ride shotgun this time," Natasha insisted, "unless Fanboy …"
"Nah, I'm good in the back."
"I'd rather sit in the back with Fanboy, if you don't mind."
"What is it with WSO's and wanting to sit in the backseat?"
Fanboy shrugged and smiled and got in the back next to Bob. Natasha circled around to get to the other side.
"Aren't you going to open the door for her?" It had bothered Bob last time, but he had chosen not to say anything then, giving Rooster the benefit of the doubt.
Rooster frowned. "Why?"
"Why not?" Bob countered simply.
Rooster groaned. "Look, Bob, I know you've probably never heard of it, but there's this little thing called feminism—"
Natasha opened the car door and, very properly, sat sideways in the seat then, keeping her legs together, swung them in and closed the door. "What about feminism?"
"Nothing," Rooster said quickly, a slight pink tinge to his cheeks. He turned the car on and shifted it into gear.
While Bob and Fanboy talked shop in the back there was silence between Rooster and Natasha upfront, both lost in their own thoughts.
Rooster was mulling over what Hangman said. He wasn't big into classic literature, especially not Shakespeare, but the meaning of the quotation was clear enough.
How did Seresin do that? He could swear the jackass was almost psychic sometimes.
…….
Penny turned the jukebox off and the normally boisterous bar was engulfed in a sepulchral silence as they all raised their glasses.
"To the Admiral," Maverick said roughly, breaking the quiet.
"To the Admiral!"
Maverick was one barstool down from Natasha, and she watched as Penny, standing before him behind the bar, slid her hand over Maverick's and squeezed it. A wistful feeling curled in Natasha's chest.
"To Ice …" she heard Maverick murmur and then he took another sip.
"Well, look at that, Phoenix has legs."
Natasha's attention snapped to the blonde pilot standing before her, swirling brandy
"You saw my legs at the beach, Hangman," she said flatly.
"Yeah … but there's just something about black pumps and a sensible skirt on a woman that just makes her legs look … mm! I know Bob agrees with me, he's been staring at yours for five minutes."
Payback and Coyote, Jake's usual satellites, hooted.
Natasha twisted to look at Bob who was perched on the stool behind her. His face was flushed and he straightened.
"I was not!"
Hangman chuckled. "Psh. Too easy." He winked at Natasha then sauntered over to the jukebox. With the departure of Hangman, the rest of the squad dispersed to different areas of the bar.
Natasha rolled her eyes then turned to regard her still blushing WSO with a fond smile.
Everyone looked good in their dress blues, especially Rooster, but Bob also looked exceptionally good: his broad shoulders seemed broader; his square chest, squarer; his trim waist, trimmer.
"Take my Breath Away" by Berlin appropriately came on over the bar speakers.
Hangman must be in a sentimental mood.
A pleasant warmth thrummed in her veins from the rum and coke. She languidly propped her head in her hand against the bar and a slow, mischievous smile spread across her ruby red lips.
"Are you sure you weren't staring at my legs?" She teased.
Bob had just taken a drink of his Sprite and choked at this, spilling a few droplets on his uniform. He put a hand to his wet chin where the soda had dribbled. "Phoenix!"
Natasha smothered a laugh and felt a little guilty.
"Oh, sorry Bob!" She crooned. "But Hangman is right, you do make it too easy."
A good-natured grin lifted the corners of Bob's lips as he dabbed at his slacks with a drink napkin. "Yeah, yeah, I know."
Silence settled between them. Bob idly fiddled with the insignia on his cover. He had not been staring at her legs for five minutes. Just one.
Natasha took another sip of her rum and Coke and tried to not think about how she would perform tomorrow. They had picked apart everything that had needed to be addressed during the three hour debrief. Too much introspection would lead to second guessing in the air, second guessing could lead to freezing. She bit her lip, her chest tightening at the memory of the unresponsive plane.
"Are you worried about tomorrow?" Bob's warm southern twang broke into her thoughts.
"Hm?"
"You bit your lip. You seem to tend to do that when you're worried."
The automatic, strong leader reply of no, I'm fine rose to her lips, but then as she looked into Bob's open and friendly face she found herself wanting to be transparent with him, unpack her fears—but at the same time, she did not want to give him a reason to worry or to doubt her …
Rooster suddenly appeared beside Natasha and leaned against the bar.
"Phoenix does have nice legs, I'll agree with Hangman on that," Rooster said casually.
Natasha was both slightly annoyed and relieved by the interruption.
"Don't try to get brownie points with me, Bradshaw," Natasha drawled.
Rooster gave her a lazy, flirtatious grin; his eyelids were heavy. He wasn't three sheets to the wind, yet—two at most. Rooster pushed away from the bar and ambled over to the piano.
Natasha excused herself to Bob and followed Rooster over to the old upright. She folded her arms on its top and rested her chin in them. She surveyed Rooster as he started playing "New York State of Mind".
"What's going on with you?" She asked, loud enough for Rooster to hear but soft enough that no one else seemed to.
Rooster didn't look up from the keys. "What d'you mean?"
"Just because Hangman seems to have backed-off and mellowed, doesn't mean you have to step up and take his place."
Rooster's playing faltered and glanced sharply up at her.
"I don't appreciate you taking cheap shots at my backseater."
An eyebrow popped up. "Your backseater?" His fingers resumed flying across the keys.
"Yeah."
""You seem to forget that that's the nature of being a fighter pilot, if you can't take that kind of abuse, you're in the wrong line of work."
"Bob's not a fighter pilot, he's a flight officer."
"Doesn't matter. If Bob has a problem with me he can tell me himself. He's more than capable," Rooster said coolly. "I don't understand why you feel the need to get constantly involved."
"Because we're a team."
Rooster glanced up at her again, but not making eye-contact. "Is that all?"
Surprise flared up in Natasha's chest and heat rose to her cheeks. She resisted the urge to glance back at Bob.
"Of course."
Rooster's focus dropped back down to the piano. "OK."
"OK …" She said slowly. She wanted to dig more into the puzzle that was Rooster, but something told her to leave it alone. She was also very tired.
Natasha turned back to where Bob was sitting. The stool was empty. She scanned the bar, but didn't see the familiar golden head anywhere.
Natasha approached the bar. "Penny, did Bob leave?"
"Yes he did. He looked pretty beat."
Natasha bit her lip and Penny regarded her with sympathy. "How're you guys doing? Mav told me a little bit about what happened."
Natasha settled down at the barstool and gave the older woman a rueful smile. "We're doing okay—a little bruised in body and pride, but otherwise fine."
"Yeah? That's good to hear. So, what's going on with you and Rooster? Things seem a bit … tense—not that it's any of my business …"
"I don't know," Natasha sighed. "Rooster's been on edge this whole deployment and I'm sure it has less to do with me or the mission and everything to do with Maverick." A faint teasing grin lifted the corners of Natasha's mouth. She raised her eyebrows expectantly. "You and he seem pretty close … so, you tell me."
Penny gave her a knowing smile as she moved away to retrieve a few empty beer glasses further down the bar.
"Oh no, it's not my place to tell. You're just going to have to ask Rooster yourself."
"I've already tried that."
"Then I don't know what else to tell you."
Penny pulled a spray bottle and towel out from behind the bar and began to wipe it down. "You know, you're looking pretty beat yourself. You should probably head back and get some shut-eye. Things will look better in the morning."
As if on cue, Natasha yawned, then dragged a hand down her tired face. "Yeah … I suppose you're right. Good night, Penny."
"'Night, Natasha."
Natasha paused as she passed Rooster on the way out of the Hard Deck. He was now plinking idly on the piano and staring into space.
Natasha opened her mouth to say good night, but then closed it. She suppressed a frustrated sigh and stepped out of the Hard Deck and into the cool, salty night air.
After that brief talk with Penny Natasha suddenly found herself missing her mother, at least, more than usual. She pulled out her phone and hit the FaceTime icon.
"Haseya! How's my baby?"
Unexpected tears prickled at her eyes upon hearing her mother use her Navajo name. Luckily it was dark so she could not see them. She didn't know about the ejection. Since she was relatively uninjured the Navy didn't inform Mrs. Trace and neither did Natasha.
"I'm fine, Mom. Just wanted to hear your voice."
