"He called me Old-Timer."
"Who did?"
"Your new friend over there."
"Oh, Hangman?" Casey concludes, looking back at the man in question, and shaking her head as she watches him lean over the pool table to line up a shot before returning her attention to the conversation at hand, "He's not my friend."
"Does he know that?"
Casey doesn't miss the thinly veiled concern behind the question, and it is nearly impossible to ignore the small twist in her heart that comes about in response. She wishes she could say she didn't want that concern. Didn't need it. But she's always been a terrible liar, at least as far as the man sitting beside her at the bar is concerned.
There are four people in this world that have always been able to read her like an open book. Her mom. Her dad. Her godfather, and her best friend.
And Casey has to suppress an ill-timed snort at the brief thought of how grateful she should be that Iceman doesn't exactly frequent Navy bars anymore—that her best friend is, last she heard, not stateside—before she directs her focus back to the present as best she can.
"You almost sound like you're worried for him."
"Or maybe I'm worried for you."
"Careful there, Old-Timer. You'll give yourself gray hairs."
"You're hilarious," Pete quips, grateful for the ready smile Casey gives in response, even if there is still some hint of wariness lingering in her eyes, "Really. You should consider taking that show on the road."
"Well I would, but I'm kind of lacking in the wingman department right now."
"No Evie?"
"She's in Tulsa," Casey supplies, frowning because, in all the chaos of coming back to North Island, she hadn't managed to make the time to check in on her friend, "Her brother died a week ago."
"She okay?"
"Never saw it coming. I offered to go with her, but—"
"She told you not to."
The concern is back again, and Casey averts her gaze to the nearly empty glass held between both hands, the pad of her thumb tracing a line of condensation while she manages a small nod. She feels the warmth of a hand resting on her shoulder, and has to fight against the sudden sting of tears burning at the corners of her eyes.
It's impossible to tell where the sudden surge of emotion is truly coming from. Whether it is from sympathy for her friend's grief, the silent support of her father, or if hormones are already starting to make her go crazy.
But she can't think of that. She can't, because the second she does, she may as well write all of her secrets out on a neon sign for all to see.
"Hey, sweetheart! He givin' you a hard time?"
"More like the other way around," Casey says, recovering quickly and offering her father what she hopes will amount to an apologetic glance before hopping down from the chair in front of the bar, and swiping the glass she had been drinking from as well, "Could use another drink."
"Wanna maybe try something with a little more kick?"
"Hmm. Let me think. Nope."
"Jesus, you're a hard sell. Anyone ever tell you that before?"
"Maybe you're just not as charming as you like to think, Bagman."
Casey cannot fight the laughter that bubbles up in response to the obviously deliberate screw up of Hangman's call sign made by a familiar figure moving to stand at his side, and she is more than a little pleased to note that the majority of the other pilots now gathering around the pool table are amused as well. She can feel Jake's eyes following her movements as she draws near, but her attention remains almost entirely focused on the woman.
She has to bite her lip to restrain a satisfied smirk when Natasha pulls her into an embrace and Jake's eyes widen almost comically in response, trying not to acknowledge the nearly overwhelming relief she feels to have another familiar face by her side even though it is almost all she can think about.
"Bagman. It's clever, Phoenix. I like it."
"So you two have already met."
"What gave it away?"
"Probably the way you're not jumping up to defend him and all of his charm," Natasha replies, pulling back to look at Casey just a bit more closely, and raising a brow as soon as she notices the tiniest flicker of uncertainty in the other woman's expression, "What is it?"
"Nothing. I just—"
"Just wanted to join in on a game of pool?" Jake interjects, snagging a cue from the sandy-haired pilot Casey can recall observing their game of darts earlier, and leaning back against the pool table with an overly confident grin.
"I think I'll pass."
"Getting tired of all the club soda?"
"No. I'm just not particularly good at pool."
"That seems like it would work out well for me. Assuming the terms of our bet stay the same."
"Which is precisely why I'm not taking the bait."
Casey offers an attempt at an innocent smile to smooth over the harder edges of the retort, stepping to the side as Jake sends her an unreadable look before he is passing through the small space between herself and Natasha to head back to the bar. And she spends a moment adrift, wondering if perhaps her teasing has gone too far, before the woman standing at her side gives her a small nudge with an elbow, as though she is aware of the direction Casey's thoughts have taken all along.
"Don't feel too bad. An ego like that, and he'll recover before you can even try to say you're sorry."
"Trust me, I wasn't planning an apology."
"Good. Because I have a question for you."
"Should I be afraid?"
"That depends," Natasha deadpans, leaning back against the pool table in an eerily similar pose to the one Jake made mere moments before, "Wanna tell me why Rooster says you've gone incommunicado?"
"I—he told you that?"
"Is something going on with you two?"
Casey doesn't even know where to begin with a reply to that, because she can't even explain it to herself. She can't explain why it had suddenly become so difficult to reach out to the one person she used to go to with everything. Why it seemed so impossible to figure out if what had happened between them should be explored, or simply forgotten about altogether.
She had been far too terrified to actually talk to Bradley about any of it. About those nights spent together while he was on leave. About her feelings. Her confusion. What she wanted, and how she had always felt for him, even if she never had the courage to admit it. She had never given him the chance to say if he did or did not feel the same. There had never been time to see if their friendship could ever develop into more.
And now, all of those things they might have figured out together will come as too little, too late.
Now, there is no way to simply forget what happened, when proof of it will eventually be impossible to deny.
"Casey?"
"No, I—nothing's going on."
Casey can tell Natasha doesn't quite believe her. The doubt is written as plain as day on her face. But her friend—the one person who might actually be able to give some insight on what the hell she is supposed to do about all of this without any skin in the game herself—doesn't comment, instead inclining her head in the direction of the door before she replies.
"Good. Because he just walked through the door."
"I'll be right back."
"Casey, what the—"
Casey veers off through a crowd gathering near the far end of the bar before Natasha can finish her sentence, heading for the restroom situated near the door leading out to the boardwalk and the beach beyond. She hates the idea of running. But she needs to recollect her wayward thoughts before anything else.
And as the bathroom door slips closed behind her, she catches herself praying that no one besides Natasha saw her quick escape.
…
"This is how I find out you're stateside, Bradshaw?"
"Yeah, I uh—just thought I'd surprise you."
Natasha doesn't bother to hide her skepticism over the reply, because she can see plain as day that the new arrival is barely aware of her presence at all. Instead, his full attention seems to be following Casey as she slips inside the restroom, a muscle ticking against his jawline when she finally disappears.
It is so blindingly obvious that Casey had been lying when she said nothing was going on between them. But Natasha knows she is about as likely to get a confession out of the man standing beside her now as she had been from Casey, and so she turns to redirect her focus to the pool table instead, stooping to line up a shot, and grinning as soon as she realizes Rooster is standing too close.
Close enough for her to pretend knocking the end of her pool cue into his stomach as she takes her shot is an accident, and not an intentional use of his own distraction against him at all.
"Hmm. Guess I surprised you back."
"Guess you did."
"You didn't know she was gonna be here, did you?"
"What do you think?"
Bradley hates the bitter tinge behind the words, maybe even more so because Natasha almost immediately seems to recognize it for exactly what it is. But once again, she appears content to refrain from any comment, the reality making him more than a little uneasy, because she isn't usually one to hold back.
He has to wonder if this only means she is saving up to let everything out at some other time. At a time that is far less convenient for him.
Natasha seems to suppress a knowing smile as she watches him sift through the thoughts as they come, but still she makes no move to comment or use the obvious advantage she has over him in any way, her expression curiously neutral as she eyes him for one final moment before breaking the silence between them once again.
"Have fun with that, Rooster. Good to see you."
"Good to see you, too."
Bradley reaches out to give Natasha's shoulder a squeeze, and prepares to head off in the same direction Casey had disappeared in mere moments before, despite having no real plan for what he is supposed to do if she simply remains hidden away all night. He isn't exactly ready to buy a round for everyone at the bar for charging headfirst into the women's restroom, and there is no doubt in his mind Penny would make him do exactly that.
But of course, before he can manage more than a few steps in that general direction, someone calls out after him, effectively stopping him in his tracks whether he wants to or not.
"Bradshaw. As I live and breathe."
"Hangman. You look—good."
"Well I am good, Rooster. I am very good," Hangman retorts, offering the other man a smile that could cut like a knife if given the right opportunity, "In fact, I am too good to be true."
Bradley could have seen Natasha's roll of the eyes even if he hadn't been looking right at her, and he is almost immediately prepared to reply, but before he has a chance, another one of the pilots gathered around the pool table speaks up, clearly trying to diffuse the apparent tension as best he can.
"So, anybody know what this special detachment's all about?"
"No, mission's a mission. They don't confront me. What I want to know? Who's gonna be team leader?"
"Let me guess. You think it's gonna be you," Phoenix surmises, leaning slightly against the pool cue she holds in front of her, and watching as Hangman takes a shot, the cue ball meeting the others in the center of the table with a sharp crack, "Nothing like a little humility to liven things up, huh?"
"That, and finding out which one of y'all is gonna follow me."
"Hangman, the only place you'll lead anyone is an early grave."
He probably should have predicted that, with a guy like Jake Seresin, the remark would only spur him on rather than deterring him. He should have seen the eager flare of a challenge in the other pilot's expression. But Bradley already knows it is too late to stop it, even in spite of the distraction presented by a familiar brunette slipping out of the restroom a few feet away…
Casey freezes for a moment when their eyes meet, but seems to steel herself in seconds, any hesitation in her expression disappearing while she starts to head towards him as though her reluctance had never been there at all.
"Well anyone who follows you is just gonna run out of fuel. But that's just you, ain't it, Rooster? You're snug on that perch, waiting on just the right moment—that never comes."
"And speaking of right moments that never come—you'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Hangman?"
"Sweetheart, I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."
"You forgot our little bet already?" Casey pouts, trying to ignore how instinct seems to have her gravitating to Bradley's side—how he almost immediately shifts closer, himself, the warmth seeping through the fabric of her shirt when their arms brush together steadying her even in spite of the sudden uptick in the beating of her heart, "That hurts."
"Oh I didn't forget. But from where I'm standing, the night's not over, yet."
"No. But from where I'm standing that moment you're talking about is long gone."
"Maybe we should try another round of darts," Jake suggests, aware of how Rooster straightens a bit, almost as though he is ready to get between them, but before he can make a move, Casey is allowing her fingertips to brush against his wrist in an effort to prevent that outcome as best she can.
"I think my confidence in your aim is already dead. Or at least it is, compared to Rooster, here."
"And how would you know a thing about his aim? Or lack thereof—"
"With darts? Or in a plane," Casey teases, tilting her head to the side in an attempt at feigning obliviousness, her mouth curving a bit at the corners as she hears the soft snort of amusement Bradley gives in response. She is relieved to see Jake smiling, even in spite of his obvious attempts to hide it, because it is honestly not her intention to actually offend him at all.
She is still poignantly aware of Bradley's steady presence at her side, and it surprises her that she can be so attuned to it without ever looking at him directly. But still, she forces herself to keep looking straight ahead. To watch as Jake steps just a bit closer, as though he thinks with enough persistence, a victory will be unavoidable, the blue in his eyes glinting beneath an overhanging light before he replies.
"Both. "
"Oh, well that's easy. He kinda taught me everything he knows."
"You two know each other."
"Since birth."
"So he's like—what—your brother or something?"
"Or something," Bradley chimes in, more relieved than he cares to admit that Casey seems to recognize the small hint at humor behind the words, her gaze flicking to meet his for a moment before Hangman is drawing her attention back to him instead.
"Cute. Didn't realize you needed a lady to fight your battles for you, Rooster."
"Seems like you oughtta have enough proof by now to realize I can't exactly stop her once she's started."
"He's got a point," Casey adds, glancing back at the bar in time to recognize the significant crowd gathered around, and seizing on that discovery as a means to depart. She is holding onto composure readily enough, but she doesn't want to risk giving any of the other pilots in the vicinity any insight into anything beyond what is apparent on the surface, for both her sake, and Bradley's as well, "And this is my cue to go help at the bar."
"Not sticking around?"
"Nah. I think you two can handle the macho bickering on your own from here on out."
Casey turns to head back to the bar, but she is stalled almost immediately by the sensation of a hand curling gently around her wrist. She doesn't want to own up to it, but her heart jumps against her ribs in response to the contact, and she prays no one will catch onto the sudden fire flaming against the skin of her cheeks.
It takes a great deal of effort, but she does manage to look the man effectively holding her in place in the eye, her teeth chewing on the inside of her cheek as she favors him with a skeptically raised brow.
"Can we talk?"
Bradley's thumb brushes against the inside of Casey's wrist along with the question, and she thanks her lucky stars that most of the others who had been watching the interaction between the two of them, and Hangman, have departed for other conversations.
He has to be able to feel the hammering of her heart through the lingering brush of his thumb against her pulse point, but Casey tries to avoid thinking too hard about that, her breath catching in her throat for a moment before she finally summons the courage to reply.
"I—yeah. Yeah, but I need to—"
"Later?"
"Later," Casey agrees, her stomach giving another little lurch as the hand curled around her wrist skims down to give her own a squeeze before withdrawing entirely. For a moment, she remains frozen in place, stunned, unsure of what to say or do, or what to think of this impending talk that is clearly not going to be something she can avoid. But before Bradley can completely move away, something instinctive jolts her into action, the desperation she feels to regain some normalcy between them far more powerful than anything else, "Hey, Rooster!"
"Yeah, Case."
"It's—it's really good to see you."
The almost immediate relaxation of his shoulders does more for Casey's nerves than she cares to admit, and she catches herself smiling back—sincerely, without a hint of trepidation—when he sends her an unmistakable wink that has her heartbeat going off-kilter all over again.
"It's good to see you too."
It takes a moment, but Casey finally summons the wherewithal to actually head back to the bar, and hopes with all she has that no one will notice the lingering flush to her cheeks, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she starts to wonder if maybe she can survive this after all.
…
Hello again, my dears! And welcome to another new chapter! I have to admit, I'm a bit nervous with this one, but I'm also a bit too obsessed with Top Gun to really stop now. I hope I haven't botched anything up too badly? And I promise, there will be a flashback or two the next time around to further elaborate on what is going on with Casey and Rooster as well! I just couldn't resist diving in head-first with the main plot, so I do hope that doesn't make things too confusing!
As always, my heartfelt thanks go out to each and every one of you that has taken the time to read, follow, favorite and review this story so far! Special thanks to Boris Yeltsin, Catherine . alice, and ChiTown4ever for such lovely feedback on the first chapter! I truly do appreciate the support, and I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the last!
Until next time…
MOMM